...or why I was mistaken when I thought all pets are good.
as I said in my last post...the cat's been good lately.
She's been cuddly, she's been cute.
She got fleas from the mice, that wasn't a fun thing. Visions of the black plague abound, wishing it was restricted to cats.
(as an aside, this does provide one of my most favorite forms of feline torture...drownings...whoops, I mean flea baths...DUNK)
The mice may have been contained, or may have been a single rogue rodent (seeing as how the kill count is now 1 trap, 1 mouse AND one thumb...)
So I reload the trap (two attempts, with much loud cursing. see aforementioned third victim), and stick it back in the cabinet next to the feeder line (gonna plug that hole, as soon as I murder a few more piratical coffee raiders).
A few hours later, I note the cat nosing around the cabinets...she seems 'intrigued' to say the least.
Behavior similar to right before she got 'da fleas'. I am thinking, 'she hears the little bastards...'
Duran Duran music goes through my head "she's on the hunt, she's after you!"
Pride swells in the Daddy's chest, his little girl's growing up to be a CAT! (why I consider this a good thing I don't know, but I was caught up in the moment).
She sniffs here, she sniffs there. She stands up and looks at the drawers. Roxz comes round the corner and I shush her... "look, I think she hears them".
"Mike," with patience(the kind you reserve for the demented), patronizing sympathy and humour all dripping from her voice, Roxz says "you baited the trap with peanut butter...she's smelling that. She wants it".
how I hates her my precious...
I'm getting a cat-eating dog next...