Even the groundhogs could kick their asses

June 26, 2007

I grew up with farm cats. They were great mousers, and bird hunters, and I swear there was one that would crawl into a groundhog hole, kill it, then drag the bloody corpse up onto the front stoop, not because she was proud, but because she wanted us to know in no uncertain terms just what happens when you step out of line.

These were tough cats.

But now I live in suburbia, and suburban cats are an entirely different breed. They don’t go outside. They don’t catch birds. And this weekend it became very clear that they don’t catch mice either.

The arrival of the mouse was trumpeted by my wife’s cartoonish screams, because of which I looked into the living room to see her standing on the couch, fully completing the impression. The mouse was skiting across the living room floor. But we live with two natural born mouse killers, fierce creatures built from the ground up expressly for the purpose of killing little animals, with a song in their heart, and a spring in their step. Surely they’ll make quick work of this pesky vermin.

Fat Scarlet just sat there. I have no doubt that if it were a chocolate chip scampering across the floor she’d have been all over it like a dirty shirt. But on this day the mouse was decidedly not made of chocolate, and Scarlet wanted nothing to do with it. Aiden on the other hand thought the new toy was great fun, and chased it about with nary a pounce or a claw in sight. The only way she would have killed this thing would be if it had a coronary. Or if she accidentally stepped on it.

Seriously pathetic stuff.

After it climbed the height of the screen door I was able to scoot it out of the house. At this point the cats had completely lost interest, and had found something better to do with their time, like showing their bellies to the ceiling, and chewing between their toes.

Somewhere, a groundhog slept a little more soundly that night.

Posted lovingly by Ryan 0 Comments 0 Trackbacks Permalink