Cat and Mouse
July 28, 2010 § 2 Comments
I got an email from Charles saying hello to me and the kitties and I wrote back to say the kitties were sleeping and I was working, but then I decided I should take a break and I went in the other room and poured myself a glass of Perrier. Returning to my desk I saw Fitzroy on his back doing his bunny thing so I bent down to stroke his irresistible white fluff belly and spilled a little Perrier on his face. His shock was a great silent film moment, and I thought (cruelly) of Philip’s suggestion to use a water pistol to disperse the cats when they swarm me awake at 6 am.
The wet no-longer-bunny cat jumped up and ran from me, hiding by the window. I coaxed him out for patting and sweet-talk then we adjourned to the bathroom. I took care of business and he lay on the floor at my feet chewing on what looked like a dried mouse skeleton, complete with tail. I picked it up by the apparent tail, but it was not that distressing—rather an ancient object of vegetable origin. It resembled a flower but was as thick and stalky as an artichoke. Don’t ask me how it got there. I clean what fits into the allotted hours. Dishes, garbage, cat litter and laundry take precedence.
The bathroom is our agora. Mouchette came eeling in for a gossip and stayed to investigate the supposed mouse. She wants a mouse badly; she waits so patiently by the place under the radiator where they come out when they dare. I used to have more mice than God (he has angels to clean). Now I don’t have enough for my darling carnivores and must resort, albeit unwittingly, to that thing vegan restaurants used to do, tofu made to look like beef or chicken….
Instead of a poem, here’s a link to a video with a Scotsman reading Robert Burns’ poem “To a Mouse”
you won’t understand all the words, but it’s worth it anyway.
Mostly in the Afternoon 
Thank you Mouchette and Fitzroy, your obsession with mice is inspiring. And no human has written as inspiring a poem as Robert Burns. And thanks to Margaret for finding me an audible version.
It is wonderful to listen to that poem. I find myself imagining it’s Robert Burns himself.