Living in Charlotte's Web

Twice in the past four days my cat has given me a present and it's not even my birthday. The first was Saturday morning when he calmly paced into the hallway with a mouse in his mouth and laid it at my feet. No signs of blunt trauma, no blood, just a mouse that expired in the middle of a game of rodent roulette.

The second arrived yesterday while I was pouring my first cup of coffee and munching a muffin. This time, my cat retrieved my "gift" from beneath the cupboard rim and tossed it in the air like a juggler with only one ball. It was another mouse, of course, and I had the distinct impression he was showing me how he plays with it. "See, it's like this, I chase it across the floor and..." That was enough for me and I disposed of it properly.

I don't think I have an infestation; a motel would more accurate. Critters wending their way from the forest to someplace dry, warm, and smells like food. It's like living in Charlotte's Web. I feel badly for the mice but catching them is the cat's job, he finds it fulfilling, and he drives me crazy when he can't find any. If I argued with him, he'd no doubt produce his union card and suggest I call the AFMC (American Federation of Mice Catchers).

Don't trouble yourself looking for a deeper meaning in all of this. I've been writing about weighty topics the past few weeks and just figured we could all use a break. Besides, I have friends studying for an exam in cardiology and if any of them stop by for a read, the last thing they need is to have to think. They've got enough on their plates as it is. In a couple of days they'll be searching for answers with the diligence my cat exemplifies whenever he's convinced the pitter-patter of tiny feet means someone has seen the "Vacancy" sign.


(Creative Commons image by EricMagnuson via Flickr)