Early in the morning last week, Mr. Kitty got off the bed and started roaming around the house.  Then I heard him scuffling around on the rug runner, something he does when he wants to play.  What time was it?  I looked fuzzily at the clock.  1:30 a.m.  Oh god, he probably wanted something to eat.  Well, if I do that, he’ll want a snack every morning.  I’m just going to ignore him. 

Mr. Kitty darted in and out of the room, and Old Pup got fed up and lunged for him.  That roused my DH, who got out of bed and said, “What is up with the cat?”

“He’s hungry,” I said from under the pillow, thinking : you can feed him and then he’ll bug you.

DH went into the kitchen, turned on the light, then said flatly, “He’s got a mouse.”

That got me out of bed, and I got DH a broom.  He trapped the mouse, and then swept him across the floor, away from our fascinated cat.  Poor mousie, he bounced against the baseboard, and stayed there, trembling.  Before Mr. K got his act together, I picked the traumatized mouse up in a hand towel and tossed him out back, no doubt to be a snack for a passing owl.

We went back to bed, but Mr. Kitty prowled the house for the rest of the night.  That mouse was still around, he could smell it!

So even though one of my earlier posts disparaged Mr. K’s hunting technique, he proved that he’s still got it, and continued to prove it when he nabbed another mouse the next morning.  With the consideration that Mr. Kitty is known for, he hunted this one down at 6:00 a.m.  DH shoved his furry orange behind out the door (mouse still in mouth).

I set up traps, well out of paws reach, and Mr. K held vigil in the laundry room, but no mice have been seen.cat_skull

Not to be outdone, on our Tuesday morning walk, Old Pup dashed towards the drainage pond in our local park.  I figured she was chasing the ducks, but then I heard her barking, and, as I got closer, something else snarling.  Oh, no, she’s cornered a raccoon.  I could barely make out Old Pup’s pale shape in the morning gloom.  I called to her, but of course, the prey drive was roaring in her ears, so I paced the water’s edge, and hoped I wouldn’t have to go in after her.

Finally, the Pupperoon gave a final bark and moved away, towards me.  I would like to state, for the record, that I don’t blame the raccoon for any of this.  It was in its territory, minding its own business, when a huge galumphing animal burst through the reeds with murderous intent.

Old Pup turned around; maybe she heard splashing or movement.  She went deeper into the pond.  I shone my little flashlight in the water, but only caught the gleam of two little eyes.  There was more snarling, then a yelp, and Old Pup’s head disappeared under the water. 

Not the real raccoon but a simulation

Not the real raccoon but a simulation

Oh god!  The raccoon was trying to drown her!  I waded into the water, shouting.  Old Pup was  back up, swimming towards me, and I could just make out the raccoon head somewhere on her back.  I swung the metal end of the leash towards it.  I don’t think I got near it, but the raccoon decided discretion was the better part of survival, slipped off Pup’s back and disappeared into the dark.  Immediately, Pup turned around and tried to swim after it.  I grabbed her tail and hauled her ashore.  The Puparoon immediately ran along the shore, trying to track it.  Finally, I was able to grab her collar, leash her, and drag her home.  Riding high on adrenaline and the chase, Old Pup was thrilled.  Her tail was high, her ears alert, her step prancing.  Soaked from the waist down, shoes squishing, I wasn’t nearly so happy.  Back home, I rinsed her under the hose (the pond water isn’t very clean), then had my own shower (with hot water, thank you very much), and related the whole tale to DH.  Under the kitchen light, we could see bloody scratches on her muzzle and ear.  Taking a look into her bright eyes and happy smile, she seemed to consider them worthy trophies.