Wednesday, March 18, 2009

We had an early lunch and lingered over coffee, talking idly about Charles' singing group which had visited the local Care Centre in the morning. We reminisced a little, and then fell to discussing the river Thames, and the wonderfully researched book that Peter Akroyd has written about the Sacred River. I was particularly interested in the wealth of Neolithic and Bronze Age artifacts which have been found, concentrated in the short stretch between Twickenham and Teddington. We were discussing the complex geology of the Thames and reading aloud little bits about the relevance to ancient earth ages when suddenly there were strange noises coming from the nether parts of the house.

I went to investigate.

The cat was in the laundry room, swishing her tail and with a wildly concentrated look in her eyes. A mouse, - somewhere behind the hot water heater there was a mouse!

Charles came to investigate.

I left the two mighty hunters behind closed doors, discussing the capture of the creature.

Through the door the discussion grew a little frantic, - I could hear the cane (Charles' cane, not the cat's) pushing things aside, banging on the floor.

Ah, things have quietened down somewhat, - Charles is speaking to Miss Callie with gentle approval - "Good Cat, Good Cat" I hear.

Suddenly, all approval gone, the feline intelligence is being questioned. Loudly. Miss Callie has let the mouse escape....well, of course, - isn't that the name of the game?



She catches it again, - Charles tries to guide Callie and the mouse through the open door, but in vain. The mouse is free! And in behind the washer, where nothing and noone can reach her/him....

I lie down on the couch and feign sleep, - Charles and Callie emerge from the laundry room. Callie comes and lies on my chest, telling me what went on and commenting on the status quo.

It is clear that the answer lies in a mousetrap, generously baited. Charles moves the washer and dryer closer together so that there is room to slide in the cheesy morsel. We close the door, and settle for a little nap, complacently confident that this will do the trick.

We are old hands at this game....

Tonight Miss Callie haunts the laundry room, frightfully bucked at the thoughts of another exciting chase. Nobody has the heart to tell her the cheese was the poor little creatures downfall.....

5 comments:

The Weaver of Grass said...

That photograph is quite something - I want to know if the mouse is dead in the picture?
Hasn't it got the most beautiful coat - and what a lovely cat - I love tabby cats - we used to have a darling one, called Maxi - who sadly got run over about a year ago - I miss him still.

Hildred and Charles said...

Yes Weaver, it is a lovely cat with a beautiful coat and marvelous eyes, but alas, it is not Miss Callie. Just a stand-in Reuters photo.

Callie is a tortoiseshell who does acrobatics on the dining room chairs, pretends to play cards with us, NEVER kills mice but loves to bring them in from outside to tease and torture.

And she's loving and affectionate

Hildred and Charles said...

We had another tortoiseshell who looks just like Callie, - she didn't make the move successfully from the old house. Wandered home three times before finally being run over on her fourth journey. I know how you feel about your Maxi, - Miss Roo is buried at the foot of the pasture with meadow rue to mark her grave.

Grammie said...

Oh not good on both fronts. Having just watched the Miss Potter movie and feeling fond of little wild things I cheer for the mouse. BUT knowing how much those wild things belong outside I vote for moving out there. But alas a bad move to hide in the laundry room. Did this all work out? Do I want to know? Good kitty. What would Miss Potter do? Draw them both I guess.

Hildred and Charles said...

Oh Fonnell, I know the fondness in your heart for the little creatures, - I think we have things blocked so they will stay outside in the grasses and the garden...