Scientific Proof Cats Are The Devil’s Minions

Most mornings, Baby Evan is awake before I am so after I get him from his room I let him play on the bath mat while I brush my teeth and rub yesterday’s mascara off my face so I can start my day looking less like something the cat dragged in (oh the irony of that expression in relation to my life). Tuesday morning I threw on some yoga pants and socks in preparation for a relaxing day at home before I scooped up my little monster and headed to the bathroom. Two seconds before I set him on the ground I noticed what I thought was some of the pink and gray yarn I had been winding and kicked it a little to clear a spot. As soon as my (thankfully sock-clad) toe touched the yarn, I realized it was not yarn at all but a DECAPITATED MOUSE CORPSE WITH IT’S ENTRAILS PULLED OUT AND SPREAD ALL OVER MY BATH MAT. Apparently, some poor little field mouse thought my house looked like a cozy place the spend these last few rainy days. Unfortunately for that mouse, my cats are excellent hunters.

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I need to interrupt myself right here to tell you a different story, a far more horrifying story in my opinion, to illustrate just how little chance that mouse had of surviving even one night in my house. I think I may have told this story before, although I mostly tell it when I’m drunk since it involves a lot of hand-flapping and shrieking, but I think you’ll get the picture in writing too.

After getting their first taste of blood hunting mice in the adorable but totally uninsulated cottage we rented our first year in Connecticut, Blushes and Rabbit are always on the lookout for opportunities to kill things. During my first month in the new house (E was stationed up in New Hampshire) I woke up one night to a weird chirping sound coming from chimney wall. I figured a bird had gotten stuck somehow and planned to investigate in the morning but totally forgot, the way you forget almost everything that happens in the middle of the night. The next night while I was sleeping, several things happened in quick succession. First I felt the cat jump up on the bed. Then I heard that weird chirping sound again. And THEN I felt disgusting, leathery wings beating against my face as the live bat my cat had somehow managed to catch tried desperately to escape. I had NO IDEA how it got inside, NO IDEA how my cat managed to catch it, and NO IDEA why she put it on my head. All I managed to do at that moment was cower under the covers and whimper, wondering if it was OK to call 911 for a bat attack. Eventually I took the whole comforter off the bed and – peeking out through a tiny hole – punched out a window screen. Then I used a broom to smack the bat until I stunned it enough to scoop it up with the dust pan and threw it out the window.  I slammed the window shut, ran out of the room and spent the rest of the night on the couch, trying to remember if bats traveled in packs or could lay eggs in your brain while you slept. I still have no idea how any of that happened, but I haven’t seen a bat  since so I’m hoping that one warned all his friends about the evil attack cats in residence.

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So I wasn’t really that shocked to find a dead mouse in my bathroom, although I can’t say it was the highlight of my day. I screamed and jumped and hid the baby’s face from the carnage until E picked it up with some tissue and threw it away. Once I got over the ew ew ew ew ewwwwwwww of having touched it with my foot I actually felt a little sorry for the poor mouse, since I know it’s death was neither fast nor painless. Rabbit, the eviler of the two cats, likes to chew off a mouse’s feet first, letting it try to hobble away before she kills it. And by kills it I mean “eats the head and leaves the rest as a little present, usually somewhere I will step on it barefoot”. So yes, I felt bad for the poor tortured mouse.

That is, until I found ANOTHER dead mouse on the bath mat this morning. Those little rodents are trying to invade my house. Get ’em kitties.

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3 Responses to “Scientific Proof Cats Are The Devil’s Minions”

  1. TMae says:

    As soon as I read, “weird chirping” I knew where this was going. How did I know, you might ask? Because it happened to me too! (Well, something similar anyway.) My cat caught and wounded a bat at some ungodly hour of the morning. She was playing with it in the hallway outside my bedroom, and I was silly enough to get out of bed to investigate. I flip on the light and am assaulted by this dying, (but not dead yet!) bat. I screamed. Repeatedly. Loudly. And shrilly. I do NOT like things flying near me. And I was especially not amused that my first introduction to a bat involved some twisted feline sacrificial ritual.

    Thankfully the two cats we have now are too lazy to even kill a cricket.

  2. sarrible says:

    Maybe you need to feed the cats more. I know they like Brutus’s food. Make ’em fatter.

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