feel quite sorry for mice.
True, I still prefer a dead mouse on the doorstop than a living one in
my home, but in the ideal world if mice chose to go about their lives in
a place far far away and our paths never crossed, I wouldn't be hunting
them down. I'd leave them to just get on with it and the cats would
content themselves with chasing crickets instead.
As it is though, rarely a day goes by without me waking up to some
little cadaver outside my door, and the sight of all those rigor
mortised little bodies is beginning to fill me with melancholy. Neither
cat has any interest in eating their catch, so they usually seem a
curiously peaceful collection of stiffs - as though they've just laid
down to sleep. (Except this morning, when Zelda's mouse lay in a pool of
blood, like a teeny tiny gory crime scene).
The cats also have very different attitudes to prey. Although Zelda is a
fierce and passionate hunter, her interest in her catch fades the moment
it stops moving, and she contents to laying it out in front of the door
neatly in a row, like a collection of badges. She never gives it a
second look, preferring to focus on throroughly washing herself and
asking to be let into the house.
On the other hand Milica is all about the exhibitionism. Statistically
speaking, he is a much less succesfull murder-machine but any occasion
he manages to catch something is announced with him turning sommersaults
in the air, running in circles and literally bouncing off the walls. If
he could manage to beat his chest and emit Tarzan-like howls of triumph,
then I'm convinced that's what he would do - but as it is he throws
himself into physical acrobatics of glee, followed up by The Replay Of
The Triumphant Hunt whereupon he pounces upon the dead thing and
pretends to kill it all over again. He will repeat this exercise many
many times, in fact he won't stop until the poor little desecrated
cadaver is removed from his Jaws Of Doom and still the cat will be all
'Did you see me? Did you see what I did? Let me show you again how I
pounced on him! I am Hunter! I am Mighty Hunter! Nothing can escape me!
Especially not dead things! I am Magnificent! Oh, the Glory of Me!'
It reminds me of one of my favourite Montenegran cartoons where a
sparrow and a worm greet each other with: "Hail, Mighty Eagle! Well-met
On a separate note, I am wearing extremely cute shoes today (black
peep-toe flats with white polka dots and a little bow. I had to dissect
them a little bit to make the peeptoe hole larger to accommodate my
Freaky Giant Toe. Thankfully their cuteness is undiminished AND I can
walk with ease.
And now a poll!
To spend money on one last romantic getaway with your lover, or to save it for the coming of the baby?
Yes to romance and getaways! Yes to massages! You owe it to your marriage, considering how little nookie you're likely to fit into your lives after the baby comes.
Yes to romantic getaways! Have fun while you can!
No, you waster! Be sensible and save. The money you would pay for the break would be much better put to use in a savings account.