I love the girls' cat Tinkerbell, I swear I do...or usually do. We live in the country and since the manufacturer of our mobile home cut a TWO FOOT HOLE in my bathroom floor to make room for the very small pipes that need to leave the house even with all the steel wool stuffing and expanding foam pumping we do sometimes mice come in. Tink's a great mouser, which means that coming through that hole is quite wonderfully a death trap. She brings the mice to me, which up until say a week ago was cool. I praise her quite a bit for mousing, so this situation is partially my fault.
She's tormenting me with a mouse right now, and it isn't even dead yet. I puked in the living room at the site of said wonderful cat with a squirming little grey mouse in her mouth. I told her to get away from me and all I got was a truly stunned "what? mice are your favorite!?!" stare. She finally went under the dining room table so I ran to my bedroom and shut the door. I can hear that cat letting the mouse go and catching it again in my living room, and I want to puke. I officially hate being pregnant. If I wasn't I'd go take that mouse from her and finish it off without blinking and throw it outside, but thanks to the stupid hormones I'm too terrified of the thing to do it. I HATE not being me...I love the baby, but I can't stand the hormones.
And I swear the cat knows I'm afraid of it and is following me around. She's outside the door right now. I'm stuck in some lame 15-minute horror clip done by university film students, and it sucks. If that mouse is still alive and she lets it go under the door I can't vouch for Tink's future safety...
No comments:
Post a Comment