November 27, 2006

I need to sleep

I love my cat Charlie, I really do. He's so soft and warm and cuddly and makes cute little noises when he stretches (which I do too, apparently). He doesn't bite me when I tickle his tummy, and when I curl him up in my arms he doesn't freak out and decide he's not ready for a serious relationship. He comes to meet me when I'm walking home. He's really sweet. But there's one thing about him that really gets my goat.

He likes to bring me mice.

Last night, at about 1.30am, he brought me a skink. He'd actually had it stored behind the china cabinet, and had been prodding back there with his lovely white paws for days, but last night, he dragged it up onto the bed to show me.

Then, at around 3.46am, apparently not impressed with my lack of being impressed at the skink, he brought me a mouse. I woke to hear the sound of his claws pat-patting the metal feet of one of my chairs, as he squashed the rather cute but on his-way-out mouse, pulled it into the air and chased it around the carpet with all the energy of a spry kitten. Every now and then, Charles would look at me with those big yellow eyes and blink affectionately, as if to say isn't this a good time? Grr, I answered.


I waited for about 15 minutes before I got up, grabbed an old cloth and picked up the mouse with it. On other occasions when Charlie has brought in mice, they have been too alive, and they dart all over the place, particularly behind the furniture. In my effort to save the little mice, I would pull the furniture away and try to catch them with a trusty cloth, but Charlie would inevitably stick his Rodney So'oialo-sized head in the way and thwart me.
So I took the had-it mouse outside and put it in the creepers climbing all over the fence. Charlie, too stupid to realise that the mouse was gone, went into a frenzy trying to find it. It was like a magic trick to him. The mouse had just vanished. I put him outside, like the cat at the end of The Flintstones, and even though he tumbled through the cat flap again and again, he gave up and stayed outside searching in vain for the mouse.

However, while I was mouse wrangling and cat wrangling with the door open, a gigantic beetle with wings like bark thudded into the pelmet above my bed. Its antenna wriggled menacingly. Eek. Last week, a spider bigger than Jesus wandered into my shower. Why wasn't Charlie sorting that stuff out??

So anyway, I'm quite tired today. Noone at work is sympathetic. They all just say it's great training for having children.

1 comment:

claire_dower said...

pelmet - that's a good word!