|I totally drew this. I even used a "how to draw |
a mouse" tutorial. I am THAT good.
Cats are hunters by nature, and cat owners know that their hunter buddies like to catch their prey and then bring it into the house as an offering of love to their owners. They will leave dead birds or mice or whatever, sometimes on your pillow, which is some kind of love gesture because they think they're feeding you or something. I don't really get how that works, but whatever. Just go with me on this one.
MY cats, however.... well, they're pretty lame. They're shitty hunters, they don't enjoy spending their time stalking prey in the tall grass, they mostly just like to lie around being fat and lazy (what a life). Actually one of my cats has some kind of cat OCD and she likes to catch and kill plastic bags. It's a typical day in my house to hear her yowling this weird little yowl of hers while she carries a plastic bag up the stairs and deposits it at the foot of my bed. I guess that means she loves me? Like I said, I have no clue. Cats are weird.
Occasionally, however, one of my lame, lazy cats WILL catch something. But because they're not hunters (and because they're weird and lame and lazy) they very rarely actually kill it, but they do bring it into the house. And then lose it behind a chair or in the bathroom.
And then suddenly we have a live animal, usually a mouse, terrified out of its fucking mind and stuck behind a chair in my goddamn house. A good hunter would continue to hunt and trap that thing so they could kill it, after a prolonged period of torture, and then leave it on my pillow as my prize. But what do MY cats do? They stand there for a bit before saying "well, fuck this. I guess that thing is gone now" and then go back to their spot on my bed to lie around and lick each other or whatever.
Which leaves the humans to deal with this tiny stranded animal that's now camped out behind the chair in my living room.
Okay, so... here's the thing about me. If you've read my blog or know me online, you might think that I am a brave warrior mom (not the Jenny McCarthy kind of warrior mom, the good, sane kind of warrior mom) and you would pretty much be right. I'm not afraid of much. I've dealt with spiders, and roaches, and lice, and fleas, and ringworm (which is not actually a worm but it fits well into this list of things right here). I've handled raccoons and possums (kind of). I've been puked on, and pooped on, and peed on. I'm excellent during a crisis, somehow I get really calm and go into "deal with shit" mode, like the time I ran an almost passed out over my shoulder Child 2 into the ER while wearing my pajamas. I've stood up to bullies, I've spoken at school board meetings. I've advocated all the way up to the Superintendent. I get shit done and I'm not often afraid. But if you put a live mouse in front of me? I immediately turn into a sniveling, scared little girl.
I'm not kidding, I'm like that stereotypical picture where all the women jump onto the table because there's a tiny little fuzzy mouse running around, and scream at the men to take care of it. I will RUN the fuck out of the room, and to safety, to get away from the goddamn thing. Hubs is astonished, every time. "it's just a mouse!!" he'll say. Yes, it's just a mouse, and I am so motherfucking freaked out by that thing, I will scream at the top of my lungs at just the sight of it. I'm not kidding. I SCREAM!! But only the live ones, because I have no problem dealing with the dead ones.
I have no idea what the deal is with mice and me. Probably somebody will suggest that I do some aversion therapy to deal with my problem, but NO THANK YOU. I have no interest in dealing with my problem. Let's just let hubs take care of those things while I stand on the table and scream.