The cats barely set a paw outdoors these days, preferring to curl up in various balls in odd places around the house. They get up with me, demand some breakfast and then sleep on the bathroom floor until the luxurious under-floor heating switches off - at about 9am. Lupin then lies on my bed and Cleo fancies her spot by the plant just outside the bathroom, so that if and when the sun comes out she is in prime position for warmth.
I digress. Today, Lupin braved the outside world. I didnt see her go out but I heard her come in.
"MUM, MUM....MUUUUMMMMYYYYYY!" she meowed and shouted at me from the bottom of the stairs.
It could only mean one thing. A rodent. She brings them in to play, kill and then disembowel on the first step, rather like an amphitheatre and I the cheering audience. I catapulted down the stairs and chased her out of the house, for there is only one thing worse than a dead mouse and that is a live mouse you can't catch. The poor little beast was squeaking from the ferocious feline mouth in such distress. I scooped up a furious Lupin and forced open her jaws. The terrified mouse dropped to the ground and lay there, playing dead. I think it thought it was dead in fact - but realising it was no longer in the cats jaws, it looked up, looked around, its heart beating violently and scampered through the undergrowth hardly believing its luck.
Lupin sauntered back into the lounge and lay herself in front of the fire, licking a paw and cleaning behind her ear.
"I'll just go out and get it for pudding, Mum!" she meowed to me.
So I locked the cat flap and hoped that the little mouse ran a very long away from here.
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