Last night as I sat cozied up in the basement watching TV my husband crept down the stairs declaring "Dunesey is running around with a mouse in his mouth". As he went back upstairs to try and capture the mouse I felt a cringe go through my entire body and I instinctively moved up higher on the couch even though my feet were already off the floor. I had no reason to do this. This was all coing on upstairs. I was safe. Until.......
Moments later, my cat crept down the basement stairs with the mouse in his mouth. He wanted to play with it. Ugh. All fine and good I guess until I noticed the mouse was still alive! He let it go and it tried to run!! Oh geez. This was not good. I know there are mice in my walls occasionally. Several times we've come downstairs in the morning to find the cat's prizes waiting for us. We live behind a farm field so it is inevitable that they make their way in. I can live with finding dead mice in my house but it's another thing entirely to see your cat chasing one through the same room you are in.
Eventhough he took it back upstairs and it escaped under the loveseat (and later under the baseboard) I felt trapped in the basement. I mean, why go upstairs if you are going to have a mouse possibly run across your path? But eventually I gathered up the courage to go up to bed.
Thank God the cats caught it when I was sleeping and my husband dealt with it and I didn't have to. I couldn't have done it. I'm just a stereotypical girl who jumps on the chair.
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