There’s a little mortuary building up outside of my bathroom window.
Tilly, my lovely, sweet, gentle kitty seems to have found a mouse nest somewhere nearby.
Miss Mac is distraught and wants me to rescue them and nurse them back to health (hmm, I’m thinking it might be a little late for that honey).
Master Mac is fascinated and wants to prod them with a stick.
Tilly is bewildered that her offerings are being met by a screaming harpy shouting at her to take the damned things back outside.
I am not a fan of mice running loose in my house. Last winter one set up residence behind the fridge and used to pop out in the evenings, totally ignored by the cats and stroll around the place like he owned it!
I’m not so good at killing things and anyway, putting down poison was a no no with the other animals. He laughed at the humane trap and got into the cupboard and pissed all over my Christmas lights!
One morning I took the lid off the bin to empty it and there he was, feasting on leftover pasta. Well, what was I going to do?
He had three days to stuff himself stupid and think about how he brought about his own demise before the wheelie bin was emptied. The small pang of guilt I may have felt soon dispersed when I discovered the hole he has chewed through the box of my hair straighteners so he could climb inside and crap on them!
My garden is tiny and fast filling up with little bodies.
There was Rascal the first of Miss Macs hamsters who lived to the old age of 2 ½. He is buried under the bay tree in a straw lined box that used to hold toiletries.
Sir Frederick Fluffballs met his demise after an unfortunate incident involving teeth, Master Macs finger and the door. Buried next to Rascal in an Orange phone box he occasionally makes reappearance as one of the cats has a dig about.
One day last summer I came home to find the big leather bound family bible given to Ex Lax and I as a wedding present on the coffee table.
In the back garden were Master Mac and a friend looking very solemn.
They had seen a bird hit by a car and crossed over to rescue it. Unfortunately another car hit it and it was game over for the little birdy.
Rather than leave it on the roadside they decided to bring it home and give it a decent burial.
Knowing no funeral is complete without a few words being said over the deceased they got the Bible down and read a passage or two.
That’s incredibly caring of a couple of almost teenagers I said.
Yep, said Master Mac, we wanted to give Road Kill a proper send off!
3 comments:
ok, I was totally grossed out and hyperventilating while you were talking about the mouse. I hate them with a passion. Ok, Hate, not, terrified yes. I would not be using my kitchen if I found one in there. Just ask my husband if you don't believe me.
We have mice in our loft, I can hear them having their mice parties when I go to bed. It makes me feel uneasy knowing that they are up there, rummaging through my stuff like a thief who raids your knicker drawer, there is just something 'wrong' about it that leaves me feeling violated.
But, I can't bring myself to kill them. They seem so full of life. I also know that I would be the one doing the deed as hubby is a woose!
I feel the same about moths Dayzee, I cant be in the same room as one but pretty much anything else I can deal with.
Mine probably would have stayed Claire if it hadn't got into the bin. I know exactly what you mean about feeling violated, I mean my hair straightners for gods sake!!!
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