For the last two days the cats have insisted that there was a mouse in the bedroom (all but Bob, who I think has had his share of mice and doesn't want to partake if he's not starving). But they seemed to forget about it, going about their business yesterday instead of trying to cram themselves beneath a dresser. So, as we're getting ready for bed last night, I hear Himself head into his bathroom and then "Holy Shit!!" I come dashing out with a "What's wrong?" only to see a look on Himself's face that is almost indescribable: confusion, shock, amusement, a touch of dismay. Again I ask "What's wrong?". His answer: "I can't tell you, you just have to see it."
So he leads me to his bathroom where Mr. Mouse is doing the dogpaddle in circles in the toilet. Not a sight you see every day and indeed, not something you could accurately describe. Don't know how long he'd been in there but he wasn't wet all over. So Himself fished Mr. Mouse out, toweled him off, and let him go in the garage (wrapped in a towel)--just couldn't throw him out in the cold and we don't have a terrarium to use as a home for wayward mice. Haven't checked to see if he made it through--I imagine the cats had a field day before dropping him in the drink so chances are we just delayed the inevitable. Although I think that if the cats could figure it out, they probably would have flushed him down.
ETA: Alas, he didn't make it, but not for lack of trying on our part. RIP, Swimming Mouse.
3 years ago