Of mice and men

We love our cats. Normally they are sociable and very little trouble except when hungry. One of them spends most of the day following the sun around the house, the other follows me around the house in the hope of biscuits.

But cats are hunters.

Now if they just went out, hunted and came home, it would be fine. It's not a pleasant sight watching a cat play with it's prey, but it's what they do. Sometimes of course they like to bring their trophies home for inspection. Again not pleasant, but bearable. It's when they bring the live stuff home for you to play with that we get a little upset. It's not too bad if you catch them near the door because you can keep them out of the house, but every so often we get a live mouse dropped on the hall floor.

"Look what I've brought you," declares our proud feline, "Ahhhhh," is the typical human response. This of course throws the aforesaid moggy. He can't understand why we don't want his prize catch hiding behind the crockery cabinet. He also can't understand why we aren't fast enough to catch the thing as it runs between our feet and into the safety of the darkest corner of the dining room.

We have a quite elaborate method for catching and releasing these small creatures, although I did squash one by accident one day. I had it cornered in a big box which I picked up to take outside. Unfortunately the delicate little animal got trapped just where I grabbed the box and it's short life was brought abruptly to and early end.

Tonight we had the full team out. 

Anne, Ally and I went into action with our biscuit tin, torches and wooden laminate floor sections. We build a simple rectangle to contain the mouse or shrew-the most common invaders-and try to negotiate a surrender by getting it to run into the tin which then gets flipped upright and the lid attached in a single swift motion. It's then across the road and a civilised release back into the wild. 

Unfortunately most of these small visitors appear not to speak a great deal of English and the gentle intonation of, "We're only trying to help, we're not going to hurt you," falls on unappreciative ears.

This evening's captive was a plucky little fellow, who evaded us several times, even scaling the wooden barricade at one point in a vain attempt to escape. But we are too seasoned at this procedure to be outwitted by a simple mouse (no disrespect to Reepicheep). After several attempts to corral the little chap and one worrying injury moment for Renee's distant cousin, we finally got him into the tin and out into the wild.

As I released him into the undergrowth on the far side of the road from the house, I had the distinct impression that he looked back at me with gratitude in his eyes. Either that or he was just checking so that he could tell the tale to his friends of the odd looking cat that walked upright and his strange journey in a dark box the likes of which he hopes he never sees again.