Specifically, the  mice have not just been eating, but stealing the cats’ food while they lie mere feet away.

And hiding it here.

For a week or so I’d been aware a mouse or mice were eating the cats’ [...]]]> No, actually, even with the cats right there, the mice disport themselves quite freely, thank you very much.

Specifically, the  mice have not just been eating, but stealing the cats’ food while they lie mere feet away.

And hiding it here.

For a week or so I’d been aware a mouse or mice were eating the cats’ food. It happened when I was awakened in the wee hours by the tunking of one of Squeak’s metal food bowls in their rack on my dresser beside the bed (I keep her and TJ’s bowls up there to discourage the ever-ravenous Emma Dog from committing grave offenses against her pack superiors.) The problem was, I quickly realized Squeak herself was lying in her usual spot next to me on the bed.

I got a flashlight from the nightstand drawer and shone it at the dresser. A mouse face peered at me over the top of the food bowl.

Squeak never so much as glanced up.

I tried moving the food bowl away from the bookcase, so that the mouse would have a greater distance to cross in the open, in hopes that, a) it would give Squeak a better opportunity to intercept the damned thing; and b) failing that, make the mouse more afraid Squeak might intercept it.

For a while that seemed to help. Unfortunately, the mouse seems to have realized the cats are completely freaking useless.

So last night I heard the sound again, quite persistently, right when I was trying to go to sleep. Once more, Squeak was snoozed out blissfully beside me. Out came the flashlight.

This time I saw the damned mouse darting out from behind the bookshelf to seize a piece of cat food from the bowl and then dash back behind it. A couple seconds later it reappeared, and did it again.

Stealing the cats’ food. Stealing it! While the cats, intrepid and inescapable predators that they are, dozed just a few feet away.

I bodily picked Squeak up and set her on the dresser. She couldn’t be bothered to do anything. So to try to rout out the mouse I went and checked behind the bookshelf.

And I saw the sight pictured above.

I moved the bookshelf slightly to flush out the mouse. It had already disappeared, probably behind the dresser. And I realized the back of the bookshelf was open at the bottom.

So I moved it farther out from the wall -

- and this is what to my wondering eyes did appear.

Holy crap! That is a boatload of kitty crunchies!

One thing you can say for the mouse: persistent little bugger, yes?

For a little perspective as to just how close the scene of the crime is to its victims:

TJ usually sleeps at the foot of the bed. Squeak likes to sleep in front on the proppy-pillow thing at the left hand side of the picture. It’s maybe four feet from there to her bowl. If she wanted, she could easily spring from where she lies right onto the damn mouse and slay it.

If she could be, you know, bothered.

So what I did was sweep up the large amount of food and put it back in the sealed container I keep at dresser’s end to refill Squeak’s bowls.

I’ve tried to think of schemes to put an end to the mouse, or at least its depredations. I have a few ideas. But I have to admit that, little use as I have for mice in general, I’ve gained a sneaking admiration for this one.   I felt bad enough negating all his (or her) effort by raiding its cache. Not to mention its sheer ballsiness.

And that’s why I didn’t get a good night’s sleep again last night. The end.

Cats believe we exist to serve them.

Ferrets know we exist to amuse them.

(Note: I realized these things long ago. For some reason they came back to me a few minutes ago when my cat TJ was following me around, unaccountably making Wookiee noises.)

Update: And a last minute Happy [...]]]> Dogs believe they exist to serve us.

Cats believe we exist to serve them.

Ferrets know we exist to amuse them.

(Note: I realized these things long ago. For some reason they came back to me a few minutes ago when my cat TJ was following me around, unaccountably making Wookiee noises.)

Update: And a last minute Happy Three Kings Day to all.

Christmas is officially over.

But not for me. Until I say so.

Maybe that’s part of it. Tales about TJ and Squeak have tails, that reach back a dozen years. Emma’s been with us [...]]]> When I’ve blogged about my animals it’s mostly been about Emma. I’m not sure why. Much as I love her, the cats and I are bonded much closer. We’ve got a lot more history.

Maybe that’s part of it. Tales about TJ and Squeak have tails, that reach back a dozen years. Emma’s been with us just going on four. Her stories are simpler.

Anyway, I was just sitting and going through my morning ritual of trying to get my brain to come on, always a significant undertaking. Currently it consists of doing some joint-mobilization moves and exercises, which I’d done, and then sitting on the couch drinking cocoa and reading Terry Pratchett Discworld novels.

Squeak, whose real name is Mia Antoinette, Red for Short (that’s all her name; no one’s ever called her “Red” for any reason whatsoever. See what I mean about backstory?) appeared on the back of the sofa at my left shoulder. She’s a gleaming black cat with auburn undercoat and a few stray white hairs which she’s always had, and eyes that range from amber to baleful yellow-green. She’s also a bit porky. She’s basically a black Siamese.

Anyway, she started dabbing tentatively at my left shoulder. This means she wants to lie on my chest and be cuddled. The problem was she couldn’t find an angle she liked to get into that position. Fortunately she’s not inclined to just launch herself and hope things settle out, which would almost certainly end in my getting numerous thin cuts sliced down my chest and belly by her claws.

So I picked her up and put her on my chest. At which, naturally, she put her ears back and bitched me right out. Then she settled down and began to purr happily.

(Some people who call themselves scientists claim, or at least used to claim, to doubt that purring in cats signifies happiness and contentment. Now, like many mammal behaviors it can probably mean many things. But people who doubt whether cats purr when they’re happy make me wonder if they’ve ever actually known any. Given the demeanor of a lot of these people, I’ve kind of come to hope they haven’t, if you know what I mean.)

Some people also thinks cats are aloof – which brings me back to the above. Or with somewhat more evidence that they’re treacherous or conniving. Now, anything mammalian with a brain larger than a pea connives and is sneaky; despite their reputation for goofy forthrightness dogs are really sneaky little devils, just like the wolves they sprang from.

But Squeak isn’t treacherous. She’s loving and indeed deeply loyal to her loved ones. She just operates on her own system of logic. Which doesn’t necessarily relate to the system by which the rest of the Universe operates.

Specifically: she wanted on my chest. She did not specifically desire that I pick her up. Therefore I committed a vile misdeed by picking her up. I consider myself lucky she’s mellowed; in her younger days she might’ve taken a slash at me. The fact that she ended up precisely where she wanted to be – curled up purring on my chest – simply doesn’t enter consideration.

See?

It’s all so simple. If you’re Squeak. This may also go a way to help you understand why I (and near friends of the family) consider TJ a great saint because he hasn’t killed her.

Of which more later.