And sometimes it decides that it wants to prove how amazing a hunter it actually is and it wants to prove it to the hominids lucky enough to be accepted as part of the environment in which said self-aware awesome feline operates.
So it will sometimes bust through the swinging plexiglass catflap with a mouse in it’s mouth and then will play with the mouse all over the place or totally ignore it: in either case there are a loud series of chirrups to alert human occupants as to the cleverness of the amazing hunter.
Personally, I find it infuriating when she brings in the mouse, drops it and then walks away fifteen feet to lie down and groom herself whilst I chase the furry fucker around the furniture. It is almost as bad when she brings it in and then plays with it and tries to join in the recapture because you assume that she is competent or, at the very least, involved in doing this, only to find that she is halfwitted and stares at the point it last disappeared five minutes ago whilst the rest of you are playing chasey around the fridge.
In short, I hate the middle-of-the-night-surprise-mouse and my ears have become accustomed to the sound of her bringing it in.
Which is why the other night I sprang into instant action and leapt out of bed, disregarding my previous sleep state and commanding husband to do likewise, “Quick! Help me catch this mouse!”
The cat had chosen to deposit it in a corner and it was looking dazed and decidedly saliva sodden which slowed it down a tad so I was able to clamp my hand over it and grab. It got a quick sail over into the neighbour’s back yard and I scurried back into my place to scrub my hands and berate husband for his lack of help.
His excuse was that he had to put on pants.
What the hell? I had done this whole grab the mouse and toss it thing totally naked but he was worried a rodent might judge him on his lack of clothing?
Who the hell pauses in emergency situations to consider their wardrobe and the right thing to wear? I can’t make up my mind whether this is an excellent character trait (long term planning for responsible position so that no embarrassing photos ever) or a ridiculous one (seriously, nobody cares what you look like, get over it).
He does have a rebuttal, however. Given that he knows mice can jump, he says that if he had been naked and that mouse HAD jumped, I would never have touched him again.
I have to say that is a fair call.