Long-time blog readers probably know that I like cats. I would have at least one cat but don’t because … I dunno, maybe the Lair just isn’t big enough but they insist on going outdoors, especially at night, and most cats can’t get it through their heads that they aren’t at the top of the food chain here. So after I lost my last kitten Zoe I swore off cats. Anyway, I do have to admit that none of my cats were good for much. There’s nothing inside the Lair likely to attract mice, but all my cats went out and then brought mice inside to play with and/or eat. Can’t say it was my favorite part of being a cat-lover.
My neighbors S&L have one, though, that’s not only likely to last but that also makes herself useful!
Unlike me they built a big rambling house that the cat seems content to stay inside, with lots of quiet places for mice to hide from the world.
But they can’t hide from Kiki. She’s not an eater, though: After the kill she carefully places the corpse right where humans are certain to find it, for disposal and commendation.
Lately it seems to happen at least once every time I play pet-sitter for them, which I’m doing this week.
Also need to see to the chickens…
This is nice because they’re all freshly done with their annual moult, and they’re laying nice fresh eggs again. Which I get to take home while S&L are gone.
Something new this year…
Last year they put in a nice big greenhouse but they didn’t have any success with it because it got too hot in there. This year they lined the ceiling with groundcloth and they’re planning bigger circulation fans so we’ll see how it works. But I need to remember to water their seedlings.
On the way home I stopped at Ian’s Cave to hang out my wash, that I’d put in the machine during the Morning Walkie..
And I was not surprised to find that my oldest pair of knockaround pants have gone to the Great Rag Bag in the Sky.
My green BDUs always die the same way, in the same place. And patches are only temporary. As when Younger Joel wore bluejeans everywhere, it’s one of the inevitable sadnesses of life.
At least now it isn’t a big financial crisis like it was for most of the time I lived here.
Do you give the mice to the chickens?
Those pants are only half worn out. Now cut them off just above the knees and you have shorts for the summertime. Of course, I’m not certain how well cutoffs work with the leg and all…
My cat isn’t an eater either. He even seems to be past the commendation phase. The accolades are merely a statement of the obvious to him. He just likes to play with the little things until, much to his disappointment, they become too tired to continue the game.
Ah, another great kitty hunter. My sister-in-law’s cats have been known to hunt down mice at her place. Several times, after they have managed to get one and have played with it for a while, they’ve dispatched it and have offered it as tribute to her in the middle of the night on her bed while she was sleeping. To hear my bro-in-law tell it, these events are… em… exciting.
Good Kitty!
I have read that sometime in the distant past, a chunk of feline instructional DNA was corrupted such that a kitten knows what to do up to the point of capturing its prey. Then, the big hunter is at a loss if Mom hadn’t already supplied the needed experiential instruction.
Our work cat sauntered in with a live juvenile bird in her mouth and no idea what to do next. She more-or-less willingly let me have it.