We have a mouse.
Not a pet, but the little kind that sneaks around the house, scurrying into hiding, creeping along walls. And yes, invading my counter.
We also have a cat.
Not the mousing kind, obviously. He's more of a sleepy kind of cat, the kind that likes to curl up on your lap, crawl into the box, even cuddle with the dogs. But chasing mice, that is not his thing.
Yesterday morning my husband yells; "Where's that cat? The mouse is right here, on the counter. He's hiding behind the coffee pot."
I have to make a confession. For all of you people reading this and going, "Ewww, a mouse." The truth is, I like mice. The older I get, the less I really like them in my house. But I do think they're kind of cute and when I was a kid I would save them and bring them into the house.
Back to the mouse. He's on the counter. NOT where I want him. I came up with the great idea, "WAIT! I'll get a box and we can catch him."
My husband looks at me the way he does (like I'm insane) and says, "And then what are you going to do with him."
As we're talking the little mousy is hiding behind the coffee pot, peeking out and thinking, "Yeah, then what are you going to do with him?" (Insert little mouse voice)
"Well," think quick Brenda, "I guess we'll take him outside and set him loose." Yes, people, I've done that more than once.
"Turn him loose?" Husband is a little shocked. "And let him come back inside?"
"Well, we can't just kill him." I look around, wanting a new idea. I see my perfect solution. Because as much as I don't want to kill the mouse, there is a certain sport in letting the cat chase him until he collapsess from exhaustion. "THE CAT! Silly me, we have a cat."
The mouse must have heard because he ran for a new hiding place, the sink. Perfect! I grab the cat and shove his nose into the sink. "Get the mouse, cat."
The cat struggles to get away. The mouse probably laughed as he ran out of the sink and across the counter, hiding behind a bottle. Okay, more confessions from a crazy person. It was cute, that little mouse behind the bottle.
But because I had the cat in my arms, I shoved the cat up there. "Get the mouse. Get the mouse."
The cat yowled in fear, jumped from arms and hid under a bed. The mouse escaped.
Later I did see the cat peeking under the stove. I told my husband, and he wasn't really proud. Instead he says my cat is worthless and we need one that will chase a mouse. Does that mean I can have another cat?