Tag Archives: cats

A cat and mouse story (sort of)

PG’s sister has two cats. They are both outdoor cats, and as such, wander at will around their neighbourhood. (Not my idea of good cat ownership, but whatever. I’m allergic to cats, so it’s actually better for me if they’re out and about whenever I visit.)

imagesLast week, one of the cats proudly brought PG’s sister a mouse. A still-very-much-alive-and-upset mouse. Apparently, this is a cat’s way of taking care of its people: “Hey, dumbass, you’re too stupid to hunt for yourself, but I love you and I don’t want you to die from hunger, so here’s a mouse for you to eat. You’re welcome.”

PG’s sister wasn’t especially interested in eating a still-very-much-alive-and-upset mouse, so she yelled at the cat to drop it. The cat did, and the mouse scurried away. The cat chased it through the house, PG’s sister hot on their heels, hoping to shoo them both outside. Unfortunately, the mouse managed to disappear. In the house. The cat kept up the search for quite a while, then shrugged (probably) and walked away for a well-deserved nap. PG’s sister did not shrug and walk away for a nap – she was a little too dismayed for that. And she wasn’t best pleased that there was now a rogue mouse somewhere in her house.

Fast forward to a few days later. No one, either human or cat, had spotted the mouse during that time. PG’s sister dared to hope that somehow, it had found its way safely outdoors. She went to work early that morning, leaving a note for her daughter to empty the dishwasher before she went to school.

When PG’s sister came home later in the afternoon, no one else was home yet. The young man that she had hired to work on her garden arrived shortly after that and after a quick chat with her to confirm what he was to do that day, he set to work in the yard. She went into the kitchen, checked that her daughter had indeed emptied the dishwasher, but noted that she hadn’t reloaded it with any of the dirty dishes that were strewn all over the counter. She muttered something about “Kids these days!” and opened the dishwasher all the way to reload it herself.

There was something dark and shriveled at the bottom. A banana peel? she thought. What is THAT doing in my dishwasher? She bent down to take it out. And realized that it wasn’t a banana peel at all.

It was the now-quite-dead mouse.

It had somehow gotten into the dishwasher, and when the dishwasher went through its cleaning cycle, it did not survive the experience.

PG’s sister is not a “girly girl”, nor is she particularly squeamish. But this … this grossed her right out. She screamed in shock and just couldn’t bring herself to fish the mouse’s body out of the dishwasher. So she hurriedly went to get the guy who was working on her garden to come and do it for her. He very kindly removed the body and disposed of it. He also pulled out the dishwasher’s filters for her, rinsed them off outside, then popped them back in place.

But that didn’t quite satisfy PG’s sister. The very idea of a mouse being washed with her dishes creeped her out so very much that she decided that every single dish in the house needed to be rewashed, since she really wasn’t sure which dishes had been in there during the mouse’s … um … fatal bath. She hadn’t emptied the dishwasher, you see, it had been her daughter (who later just couldn’t understand how she hadn’t seen the body when she’d been in there in the morning. How could anybody miss a dead mouse in their dishwasher, even a sleepy teenager?)

That happened on Tuesday. Now it’s Thursday.

And I’ll bet PG’s sister’s dishwasher has been running pretty much constantly since then. She’s got a LOT of dishes …

… and a cat that’s probably still wondering whatever happened to that lovely mouse he brought his people last week.

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A cat tail – um, tale

2585253-2-black-catMy friend Meshka has this cat. It’s a very delicately-built, pretty, talkative little female. The thing with this cat is that she’s very needy, as far as cats go. She follows people around the house, meowing. All the time. She constantly wants attention. You know how cats have this reputation for being aloof and self-sufficient? Not this one. All she wants is to be the centre of your world. Every. Single. Minute. Of. Every. Single. Day. And she loves my friend Meshka the most of all her family.

Meshka likes cats, I think. But this one, a little less so. Actually, she once told me that she hated that cat. I believe the cat had tripped her that morning while she was trying to go down the stairs, so such a strong sentiment is quite possibly justified in this case. I guess it’s hard to love a cat that is always, always under your feet or following you or jumping into your lap, all while meowing at you.

So when we were out for a drink yesterday afternoon, and Meshka’s husband called her to tell her that the cat was missing, Meshka wasn’t too upset. She was probably more upset that she was accused of having left the door open so the cat could escape.

I tried to be positive. “The cat will probably come home on her own. It’s not like you just moved there, she’s got to know where she lives!”

Meshka responded, “But I don’t think she does! She’s the stupidest cat ever! The last time she got out, we found her waiting to be let in at a house a couple doors down from us, just because that house looks similar to ours at the back!”

Hmm. That IS a stupid cat. I don’t know much about cats, being more of a dog person, but I always thought cats were a little more clever than that.

We finished our drink and went home. About an hour later, Meshka called me.

“Is the cat back yet?” was my first question.

She started laughing and laughing. “Oh yeah, she’s back. We found her frantically clawing at the back door of that same house a couple doors down, the one that looks like ours from the back. She was yowling, she was so upset that nobody was letting her in. When I saw her, I called her, and she got more freaked out because she could hear me but not see me.”

“It didn’t occur to her to turn her head and look at where your voice was coming from?” I said incredulously.

Meshka was gasping, she was laughing so much. “NO! She just kept clawing at their door, making these funny howling noises.”

Meshka finally had to hop a few fences and grab the cat, who was covered in moss and twigs from her big day out. By this time, the cat was so distressed that she fought and scratched and kept howling. She didn’t calm down until Meshka deposited her in their kitchen. The cat made an immediate beeline to her food bowl and ate steadily until it was empty. Then, and only then, did she clean the copious amounts of debris off herself.

Meshka concluded the story by musing, “That cat is so stupid. We think there might actually be something wrong with her. She was born in a crack house, you know.”

Whatever the deal is with that cat, she’s not telling now. She’s hiding in the house. And she’s quiet.

Here kitty, kitty, kitty

I was leaving Porsche Guy’s apartment the other night, and when I opened the door, a catlittle cat was sitting there. It tried to slip past the open door, but PG blocked it. I herded it back out into the hallway and said, “I’ll get him downstairs and outside.” PG abruptly shut the door in the cat’s face, and we yelled our goodnights through the door.

I called the cat and it happily followed me into the stairwell. I tried and tried to get it to follow me down the stairs, but it scurried up the stairs to the roof door (we were on the top floor of the building). It finally deigned to accompany me down one floor, but then it quickly darted back up to the top floor.

The thing is, this is supposed to be a no-pet building. That cat wasn’t supposed to be there. But it obviously belonged to someone in the building, and looked sleek and well-cared-for. Just as obviously, it was not going downstairs. I opened the stairwell door for it, it sauntered through and back into the hallway, then turned around to me as if to say, “See ya, sucker!”

I went downstairs and outside to my car by myself, a little miffed that I couldn’t manage to get a small cat to do what I wanted it to. I mean, they put me in charge of elementary school children and I can generally get them to do what I want them to, but not this cat!

But then, maybe it knew that I’m more of a dog person anyway. Also, I’m allergic to cats. Also also, I sneezed all the while I was typing this post. Sigh. So now I’m getting allergic reactions to WRITING about cats. I guess that’s a win for catdom.