She is God’s eleven pound, perfect killing machine, and she would appreciate it if you stopped kissing her on the head.
</long story chopped to manageable size>
My wife (Fabulous Publisher Babe(tm) and I don’t live in the same house. I have the main house, She has a “tiny house” across the front yard. She sleeps there Monday-Thursday night, and then (usually) joins me Friday-Sunday. (If you don’t know the details, expect to buy the beer.)
The kittie o’doom (Kyara) comes over Thursday afternoons, because Thursday is generally Girl’s Night Out, so I feed and entertain the kittie. I joke that I see the cat more than I see the wife.
Thursday night, kittie was semi-fixated on the pantry, which is open for her roam, and had the water heater tank and furnace through it behind a second door. Has been paying attention, the last few weeks, but I didn’t realize why.
Turns out that I had rodents under the house, in the crawl space. In past years, I’ve left poison bon-bons everywhere around the outside of the buildings to keep the critters at bay, but this year we’ve moved to bait stations so that I don’t kill the rabbits or all the birds that the various seed feeders have finally attracted.
Friday morning, came out only half awake. My job is to feed the kittie before I feed myself, so I got that taken care of. Then I notice that she’s thrown up on her towel. (Fourteen year old cat. She does that, and has been a little sick earlier in the week.)
So I pick up her blanket, dump all the toys off of it, and throw it into the wash. Bring out a spare and am laying it out when I see a new chew toy I don’t recognize. Really life-like.
Kittie of Doom has killed a mouse. God’s eleven pound perfect killing machine. She had heard them gnawing on the wood where a furnace electrical line comes up from below and waited. Been waiting. They have been in there for a bit and gotten it open enough to slip inside. (Sealed it up with spray foam this afternoon and chucked a mess of poison baits under the house again, just to give everyone something else to gnaw on.)
Several years ago, God’s perfect killing machine had been sitting on the floor at Fabulous Publisher Babe’s house when a mouse popped out of nowhere, made it three feet, and got pounced.
Cat knows her business.
There were extra treats today, because Kittie o’Doom successfully defended her castle.
She just doesn’t appreciate being kissed on the head.