Mar 30, 2015 3 min read

I made it through winter without seeing a single mouse in my house, which I had heretofore attributed to living with five cats. I know now that this theory is folly.

The other morning, I awoke to the sound of a loud crash in my kitchen. The din was caused by plastic pitchers and a basket filled with pens and pencils being knocked off my refrigerator by one of said cats. (As an aside, I had been having a dream about being in a car accident, so the illusory impact coupled with the actual noise created a situation where I was wide awake – and shaking – instantly.)

Upon closer inspection of the mess, I saw something quite unusual. All five of my cats were sitting in a semi-circle in the mudroom looking, and pawing, at something.

That something turned out to be a mouse they had cornered. It was still alive, though badly hurt, and it was putting up quite a fight. As soon as one of the cats would approach, the poor little guy would move forward and bite it, causing the cat to jump back into formation. Its determination to survive was inspirational, but knowing that it was also futile, I called my husband downstairs to put it out of its misery. Even dirty little house mice don’t deserve to suffer.

My cats did little to endear themselves to me that morning, however, because as soon as the mouse was dead, they lost interest in it. They didn’t want anything to do with this “toy” that didn’t move. They all began their normal 6 a.m. meowing for the can of cat food that I provide daily. I knew then that these spoiled little kitties were not the cause of my mouse-free winter.

I also knew that I had to put out some mouse traps. If you see one mouse, you can be relatively certain that there are more. (Of course, THAT theory proved to be true.)

The next morning, I discovered a full trap under my kitchen counter. When I opened the trap and its cargo hit the floor, my smaller orange cat, Bruce, pounced on it and immediately began growling.

And then he picked up the dead critter and ran with it into my living room, behind my couch.

So here I was, before the sun was even up, chasing a cat and a dead mouse through the house, visions of scrubbing carnage out of my carpet dancing through my head. Finally, I caught Bruce and his prey, and I locked them in the mudroom so he could keep “hunting.” Again, he played with it for a few minutes and then walked away. I had to dispose of that one, as well.

Perhaps these cats really are too spoiled to hunt. Perhaps I’ve just kept them too well-fed. Perhaps they are just learning because they are seeing mice for the first time. Maybe they’ll get it someday.

Or maybe I’ll never have enough of a mouse problem for them to ever get good at hunting.

Yep. That’s the theory I’m sticking to.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.