When I woke up this morning, Stephen had already left to go to the gym, and Kitty was no where to be found. I called out his name a few times, and finally I heard a response coming from the basement. The light was on and the door was open - I figured he followed Stephen down there to get the laundry and was too enthralled with the new smells to come back up.
When I went down to fetch him, he was squatted right below the stairs, staring into a pile of plastic sleds. I called to him, but he didn't want to move - I could tell he was stalking something. The house has been overrun with lady bugs (actually, we looked them up and this particular type are Asian Beetles) and it has been providing Kitty with much entertainment.
Stephen got home not much later, and he told me that Kitty had been chasing crickets earlier, leaping after them all around the basement floor. I decided to see if I could lure him upstairs again.
This time, I found he had moved across the floor, to the pile of pool floats. I called to him, and he called back, but barely flinched his gaze. I decided I would give him a little treat and shake the crickets out of their hiding spot - so I nudged a floaty with my toe.
And instead, a crazy freaked out mouse came rushing out, shrieking and scurrying along the wall - desperately trying to find a hole to escape into.
And then I, crazed and freaked out, went rushing up the stairs, shrieking, to the safety of the dining room.
"It's a mouse! It's a mouse!" I yelped at Stephen. And he replied calmly: "So?"
Normally, I'm not afraid of mice - but this one had startled me. And I felt horrible for him. Usually I let nature take its course. If Kitty catches something outside, I praise him. We keep a bell on his collar so that his chances are reduced, but it's normal. It's natural. Especially if we keep the carcass from coming into the house. But I suddenly had this weight of being responsible for the taking of a life. If I hadn't nudged Mickey out of his hiding spot, Kitty would never have gotten such a clear shot at him. The playing field was completely uneven - and I've never heard a mouse scream like that before.
Stephen played the part of big, brave husband and went downstairs to remove the cat. I heard a few stern Kitty!Drop it!s and then the sound of footsteps coming back up the stairs. I quickly jumped to help close the door, and sighed relief when Stephen said Jerry had run away by himself once Kitty dropped him.
But Kitty remained distraught. He scratched at the basement door for the better part of an hour. Some times with one paw (he's using his right front in this photo) and sometimes with both, like the door is a mini treadmill. Occasionally he'd get on his hind legs to try to turn the doorknob with his front paws. Finally, with a little catnip and a fake mouse with a rattle inside, he was lured away from the door. But the cat toy had nothing on Speedy - and Kitty soon got bored and retired to the chair for a long nap. And I'm sure he dreamt of being a master hunter, with no humans to interfere.
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