Last night I came home from work and vegged on the sofa. I had had one of those days where you seem to have three million things on your hit list and only 9 hours in the day (excluding the half hour where I munched on the risotto we cooked the night before whilst trying to sort my inbox into something a little more manageable and not have a breakdown). At one point I reached simmering point when three phone lines were ringing, the postman arrived and the printer started malfunctioning, and when my colleague parked a phone call for me I just exploded “aaargh!! I need to get out of this office!” she calmly took a message, and silently went off to make me a cup of tea. She knows.
Anyway, less about work, as work takes up too much of our lives.
I got home, made tea and snuggled with my big blanket on the sofa to watch master chef. And then I heard a load of cat noise in the hallway. The evil kitten doesn’t really purr or meow that much, but she makes a weird cooing noise as she moves about the house. It’s quite cute, but last night the noise was different. It was sort of menacing.
I went out to see what the fuss was. I knew she had been taunting other neighbourhood cats this week as she has been spending a lot of her time flying back through the cat flap and hiding behind the washing machine, or in the sofa (more on that later*) And there she was. With a mouse.
I stood, frozen for a second and said to my mum, who was on the phone at the time “Mum, I have to go. There is a mouse situation.” I spend nearly a minute looking at her, looking at the poor dead mouse, and looking back at her in a weird, frozen, well-what-the-hell-do-i-do-now? pose. I went upstairs to get the water spray, after informing said kitten to “JUST LEAVE IT ALONE! IT’S DEFINATELY DEAD!!!” (I need to address the talking to animals thing).
(this is actually a mouse mat… buy it here)
When I came down, I sprayed the bad cat in the face, while shouting “bad cat” at her. I think I should have established at this point that she didn’t give a crap, as she then flicked the mouse at me. Which by now only had three legs. Where the hell was the other leg??! (Emma’s slippers were kinda close to the corpse…)
I grabbed the cat, threw her outside and locked the cat flap. I then had to deal with the issue of the mouse, killed before its time. I made a health and safety worthy contraption by wrapping a carrier bag around ny hand and then covering the bag with kitchen roll. I grabbed the mouse and turned the bag inside out, being a massive girl and gagging at the thought of having a dead mouse in my hand. I then spent ten minutes searching for the severed leg…. don’t worry Em, it wasn’t in your slipper. Ew ew ew yuck. I had to spent half an hour bleaching every piece of floor she could have possibly touched while bringing in her mouse body.
Emma laughed at me all night. I was traumatised and every time she got on my lap I put her on the floor and explained to her she was a murderer and had blood on her paws. She had ruined my relaxing evening!
This has happened to me before when I lived with ex-boyfriend and had my two kibbies, (read all about it in They Plan To Ruin My Life)
Dad, come back soon. I am not an undertaker!!!
*yeah so the kitten has learnt how to get IN the sofa. We have one of those reclining numbers, and there is a velcro pouch on the back (i think to hide all the cord and stuff). Iain and I were sitting, reclined on the sofa the other day, and a claw comes shooting out of the space between us. “what was that?” “dude, i think your cat is in the sofa.”
I went to get a torch and we spent fifteen minutes laying on the floor trying to work out how the hell she had got in there. “she so isn’t in the sofa!” I said, getting bored. and then we saw her tail. sticking out of the smallest space in the velcro. she was in the sofa. some things are sent to test us!!!