Domestic crisis update: Situation contained.

Yesterday magpie concluded: "At least your mouse is out of the house. But your cats are slackers."

Too true!

Or so I thought.

When I went to feed Sazha this morning, in the little room where she likes to nap and has recently been getting fed (I know, but when we made her eat downstairs, she hardly ate anything before Jacques Monod came to try to take her food, and as a result she was wasting away), I found a dead mouse.

I do not know if this is the same mouse from Wednesday (please--let it be true!), but given that JM never comes in that room, I have to conclude that the obliteration of this enemy combatant was Sazha's work.

Nice work, Sazha!

And here is why you should never get rid of your old vinyl. I covered the bugger with a plastic container, slid my copy of Zenyatta Mondatta underneath, and took the corpse to the disposal unit.

Case closed?

Domestic Crisis Update: Situation averted.

You will be relieved to know that although the rodent situation in my house had been nearing catastrophe, I am not suspending this blog, nor will I keep from teaching class today or (gods-willing) grading the papers I have on my desk.

I am sorry to report, however, that the support from Congress, I mean the cats, was not quite what I would have hoped for. Sure, Sazha did a great job of herding the mouse into my study, where it could disrupt my workday. Then Jacques Monod did manage to corner it behind the file cabinet for several hours. But when I tried to use a broom to flush the mouse out into her awaiting gray claw-adorned paws, she ran away and no amount of explanation on my part could convince her that I was not aiming the broom at her. Then, when she trapped the mouse between the screen door and wooden door to the front of the house, she just smelled it.

Frankly, I had expected better.

I mean, two weeks ago, when the PP and I took the cats in for their annual shots etc., Jacques Monod was a holy terror. It finally took three people--the PP plus two vets--to contain her so she could get those shots, and also they had wrapped her in a sheet and the PP was wearing one of those giant leather mittens that cats cannot bite through. When I told the PP about the rodent situation here at the house, he said, "Well, if JM can get involved, she'll get that mouse, and she'll murder it and eat its brains."

I am serious. That is what he said, and really: he is not a violent guy.

But what did she do? She smelled it.

So I had to get her out of the way, and then I managed to prop open the screen door and close the wooden door, thereby allowing the mouse to escape through this improvised airlock into the big world.

I know this is a temporary solution, and that it will likely be no time before the mouse comes back in the house, but there it is: my own private bailout.

Domestic crisis.

So: early this morning, about 4:30 or so, my dear cat Sazha jumped up in bed. How sweet, I thought, reaching over to pet her. She jumped around, attacked my hand, bounced a few more times and then jumped onto the floor, where she darted around like an insane kitty, zig-zagging, jumping, mewing, zig-zagging some more.

I turned on the light, but I could not figure out what was up.

So about an hour ago, I was working at my desk, when she came downstairs, mewing some more, but in a slightly different tone than she usually uses when she is just looking for attention. I looked over to see that she was tracking a gray mouse.

I immediately flipped out, of course, like any good American, and after a little more chasing she seemed to corner the mouse behind a bookshelf. I say seemed, because after a few minutes the mouse emerged from the other end of the bookcase, with the cat, like Wile E. Coyote, still staring diligently at the spot where she saw the mouse go in.

Meanwhile, I called my parents to update them on the situation that they did not know was occurring. In talking to them, I figured out that probably this latest rodent activity was related to the early-morning craziness on Sazha's part. "Was she bouncing on the bed?" my mother asked, and I said, "Yes, why?" and just as I said that I figured out why.

Here is some background that might help you deduce what I deduced. Back when I lived in Michigan, and Sazha was but a wee furry thing, she used to go out on the roof of the house we lived in. My apartment was essentially an attic apartment, and it had a window that opened up onto a flattish roof that we used (dangerously) as a sort of balcony. Sazha would go out there, and then explore the rest of the roof, and with the exception of one rather precipitous fall, she stayed up there. It was perfect; she could be outside, but without real danger from cars, etc.

So one night I had just gone to bed in my futon, which (since I was a poor graduate student) had no frame and so just lay on the floor. I was lying on my stomach and just dozing off when I vaguely heard Sazha come in and it felt like there was a bug on my back. I leapt up and flopped the covers over, and I was surprised to see what seemed to be a wet leaf lying on my bedroom floor. Perhaps by now you have already deduced that that was no leaf, it was a space station--I mean, a wounded baby bat. That my dear cat had laid on my back. In my bed. With the kind (and mocking) aid of my roommate, the bat was trapped and released outdoors (where it no doubt suffered a lingering death) and the window was shut and I worked for a while on bringing down my heart rate.

Back to this morning: I think that today may have become my second bedtime rodent encounter.

Meanwhile, the mouse seems now to be hiding behind my file cabinet, and Jacques Monod is on the scene.

Stay tuned. . . .



UPDATE: Correction: it turns out the mouse is brown.



Pay no attention to the dust bunnies also lurking behind my file cabinet

An Open Letter to The Cats.

Dear Cats (that means you):

Since this is fall break, and that means I get to work at home (at my very own desk), and get some extra sleep, and maybe even read some things for fun--for three entire days--we need to set a few ground rules.

CATEGORY #1: THE DESK
I understand that the desk is popular space, and that the two of you have arranged shifts so that we do not both of you up here at the same time, with all the hissing and growling that ensues. I appreciate that. But here are a few additional requests:
1. No biting on the desk. This is my space, and you are welcome to visit it, but you are not welcome to bite me when I do not clear my arms from in front of the computer keyboard, or when I try to type instead of petting you.
2. Be careful with the tail wagging. There are some important things on the desk that I would prefer you did not knock over. Similarly, please refrain from batting pens and paperclips onto the floor.
3. That is my water. I know it looks fresh and tasty, but if you get your pointy little head stuck in the glass, don't come crying to me.

CATEGORY #2: THE BED
1. Pillows are for human heads, and you should not walk around on them while the PP and I are trying to sleep.
2. You weigh approximately 10 pounds, and that means you should not extend your body to fill up 2/3 of the bed.
3. The alarm clock is your signal that you can start meowing to wake us up. No food is going into your bowl before the alarm clock goes off. Really.

CATEGORY #3: THE COUCH
1. If I am sitting on the couch and reading, you are welcome to join me, but please do not position your body between my face and the book.
2. If I get up from my spot on the couch and you promptly claim it, I am allowed to pick you up and move you when I come back. No crying.
3. Please see rule 3 in category #1 above: it also applies to drinks on the coffee table. You should not look surprised when you find that what is in that glass is bubbly water or beer.

Thank you for your kind attention and compliance. I believe that now we can all get along much more easily.

Yours sincerely,
Isis