Regular readers may remember that our cat Claude is rather ancient. 18 years old for a cat is something like 85 in a human, so when we encountered a mouse in our house a couple of weeks ago, we pretty much wrote off the idea that Claude could catch it. Ever since his accident last summer, he has hobbled around the house on his crooked foot, and sometimes can't even jump on our bed anymore, as it is just too high. The good thing is it keeps him off of the countertops in the kitchen, but that's another story...
So we went the traditional route, setting mouse traps with peanut butter. We would check them daily, to find the peanut butter eaten and no mouse to be seen. A very smart mouse.
One day I was putting fresh sheets on Charlie's loft bed (an acrobatic feat in itself) and as Charlie was handing me a blanket he stepped back, claiming the mouse was right there, on the bed frame. I scoffed, how could a mouse get up that high? Charlie was surely pulling a fast one on his mother, hoping to see me scream in terror. I kept up the argument, until I saw the small furry bundle jump from the top rung of the ladder, and scurry across the room. For crying out loud!
This morning, Mike was first up and making coffee (I love when he does that) and Claude proudly showed him the mouse, which he had caught and taken care of, presenting it to us on the rug on the kitchen floor.
He's still got it! He gets an extra serving of Turkey Feast in Gravy today.