One morning last week, I woke up to find a dead mouse on the bedroom floor. I have two cats, so not a big mystery as to how he met his end, but surprising, nonetheless.
Grace seemed pretty proud of herself, and not surprised to find the mouse where it lay, so I’m guessing she was the agent of its demise. Clare is a better hunter, but she’s downstairs most of the time, so I’m pretty sure we can chalk this one up to her.
I got a bleach wipe and carefully picked the little guy up, told him I was sorry, and tossed him into the used litter bin. All taken care of, right?
Not so fast.
I felt bad. That little mouse had a life, probably a family (who I hope doesn’t also live in our house), and he didn’t come home that day. Something alive and breathing was now doing neither of those things, and I was indirectly responsible for its untimely dispatch to the netherworld.
Grace is a cat, and it is her nature to hunt and destroy mice, so no blame here, just sadness at the loss of a life.
I go to a lot of trouble to liberate bees and flies and anyone else who manages to sneak into my spaces without harming them. I’m cool with spiders sharing my bathroom and will talk to ants until it’s clear they’re not listening to me, to try to inspire them to leave without incident. If I can catch them (they are SO fast!), I put them outside, too.
Grace and Clare do not share this charitable view of little interlopers, obviously, and they’re just doing what comes naturally when someone enters their space. I try to get to the bugs before they do, and I’m usually successful. I tell them not to come back, obviously, because Look! Cats! They will eat you! Tell your friends!
It doesn’t usually work, although I choose to believe that the next one that comes in is not the one I just shooed out yesterday, and that this new guy is not a friend of yesterday’s guy, so didn’t get the word.
No, I’m not crazy. 🤪
I simply do not in anyway feel that my life is more important than those smaller lives. We all have a role to play here.
I considered having a small funeral/burial for our little rodent friend, but that’s a bit much, even for me. I still feel sad, though, that it happened, I am also not just mildly surprised that I slept through the life and death struggle 3 feet away from me. I did find little intestines on the stairs, however, so it’s possible the actual murder happened elsewhere and Grace brought it in the bedroom so that I could see it and appreciate her handiwork.
Ew.
Psycho Killer, qu’est-ce que c’est?
My sweet little baby, my sweet smoochie bunny girl. A killer. Bringer of death. Grim Reaper. Gracie Mae Oobie-Shooz, the Mouse Destroyer.
Friday's Child Redux 