I have become a short-term cat owner / mouse hunter.
Actually, I am not hunting anything – I am facilitating the hunting of a mouse by a tabby cat. I kind of feel like one of those mean people in safari suits in the Jungle. With a big, beige, lampshade helmet on my head.
Ooo, har, har, har..after this we’ll go to Asia to see what other havoc we can reek!
Long story short:
There is a mouse in my house. I have borrowed my friends two cats.
Those of you who know me well will know that I have never really been a cat lady (although they do feature in my retirement plan of being a crazy old lady with dogs and cats who drinks gin from a jar and tells all her crazy stories to her neighbours). I was always a dog lover, mainly because I had the coolest dog IN THE WORLD. His name was Oscar and he was a Samoyed.
But last night I sat down on the sofa with a nice glass of wine ready to
perv on Shemar Moore enjoy the clever writing of Criminal Minds when all of a sudden a giant creature ran across the middle of my living room floor. I wasn’t far off having to change my pants, jus sayin’. After several minutes of cowering on the couch praying for it not to be a huge spider (or spider at all) I worked up the bravery to tip toe gingerly over to where I had last seen it:
‘where did you last see the creature Miss Webster?’
‘By the wash basket creature police officer!’
I got there…gently tipped back the wash basket with one hand, while keeping my body as far away as possible and holding my wine in the other hand (I’d had a fright! It was now medicinal and totally justified wine on a Monday night) and……nothing.
So I sat back down and practically gave myself sideways whiplash over the next hour by frantically flicking my head from the tele to the wash basket and back.
And then it appeared. Slightly smaller than I had managed to make it in my head during the whiplash session (as in…not human size after all) but it’s running up and down against the kitchen cabinets was creeping me out. I then whatsapped everyone I knew, and a few people I didn’t, to tell them about the incident for absolutely no reason at all – Did I think they would travel an hour to come and look at it? It was the stress.
So in the end I did what any sensible person would do. I called the fire brigade.
NO. I did not really call the fire brigade.
I got into my bed and finished watching Shemar on my laptop and clapped frantically ever five minutes ‘as a warning’. When I eventually bacame too tired to continue the clapping game I fell into a (surprisingly) mouse dream free sleep.
Who knows where it is now…in a deep dark corner of a cabinet, filing it’s nails and laughing to itself…
‘ha ha ha, I chewed out all the corners of the bags of flour and sugar and I even got that expensive quinoa….the dumb clapper is gonna be in for a shock’
BUT NOT FOR LONG. That’s right sucker. By pure coincidence my friend needed someone to look after her cats for two days and I needed them to *puffs out cheeks and dons best Italian accent* take care of my problem…….
May the cat and mouse game begin. Literally.
I shall report back on round one of Cat Thunder Dome tomorrow.
ps. I realise when I said ‘long story short’ I was lying. Long story long more like it.
pps. I really hope they catch it when I’m at work. I hate seeing animals in pain but i also hate them crapping and peeing in all my cupboards.
ppps. Do you think if I play Tina Turner songs while I’m out it will speed up the process?