Laura Rent-A-Cat

Last Monday afternoon, as I sat on the floor in my apartment and drafted that day's blog post, I saw motion in the corner of my eye. This was the second time that day I saw a quickly passing shadow on the floor by the coat closet, and this time I was just fast enough to see a gray mouse crawling under my stove, having passed from the coat closet to the kitchen. I searched under my stove and behind my fridge, and, though the mouse was long gone, I discovered that my kitchen is riddled with mouse holes.

That is, I think the rodent I saw was a mouse. But it could've been a rat. After searching Google for “mouse versus rat,” I'm more skeptical than ever about my ability to visually identify rats versus mice. I also can't tell the difference only by hearing them—as I would later find out.

After that brief search in the kitchen and coming to grips with the realization that I was cohabiting with a rodent, I decided to call up Laura Rent-A-Cat. “Hello, Laura Rent-A-Cat? I'd like to rent a cat.” Later that night, just before I retired to sleep, Laura herself installed a litter box in my apartment and filled a pot of water and placed it on the floor. The two cats, Emerald and Nutmeg, explored their temporary home. That was good; I wanted those cats to know their arena well before their upcoming melee.

That night I slept on an air mattress instead of my normal spot on the floor; I didn't want to be any closer to the upcoming combat than necessary. But that was my first mistake; soon after I drifted off to sleep, Nutmeg decided to go off her watch and join me on my mattress. I snapped awake for fear of claws puncturing the mattress; I tried shooing Nutmeg off the mattress, but it was clear from her obstinance that if she wasn't allowed on the mattress then so wasn't I. I gave in and propped the mattress against the wall and took my accustomed spot on the floor.

That night, it seemed I awoke from every creak and rustle, both real and imaginary. “What was that? Is it the mouse-rat?” I would look around; the cats would be asleep, but each time they lay in a different spot. “At least the cats are awake enough to move about,” I would think. Then I'd fall back asleep until the next creak or rustle would wake me.

At about three in the morning, I awoke to a loud, sudden “splat!” What was that? Oh, it's just Nutmeg, walking around on my kitchen counter, playing gravity with my day planner. I fell back asleep. Minutes later I awoke again, this time to a distinctive whooshing just behind my head. What was that? Oh, it's just Nutmeg, peeing in the litter box. Again, I fell back asleep. I had less than an hour before my alarm would wake me for my morning ride, but again, only minutes later, I awoke to another strange sound. What was that? Oh, it's just the two cats running from one end of the apartment to the other, chasing the mouse-rat. Chasing the mouse-rat!

I jerked awake, all brain functions immediately on. I was on my feet, I had the light on, and I tracked the cats' battle progress. They had the rodent in full chase; it first tried to find safety amid the clutter of tubes and tires beneath my bike rack, but Nutmeg flushed it out. Then the rodent scrambled along the wall to its haven of the kitchen and its under-the-stove escape. But Emerald out-flanked the rodent and closed off the stove escape. Then she attacked. With typical feline swiftness, Emerald lunged at the rodent and took it within her mouth. The rodent, which squeaked all during the chase, was now frantic in its distress. Emerald dropped the rodent onto the kitchen floor. The rodent squawked and flipped back onto its feet and tried to make a getaway. Emerald struck again. And again she released the rodent. And struck again. And released again.

By now I was cheering as happily as any good gladiatorial spectator. I retrieved the one-inch dowel rod that I use to secure the sliding patio door shut and returned to the scene. The rodent was again on its back, squawking and trying to make a getaway. “Should I pin it down and finish it off?” I thought. “No, let the cat finish it.” But the rodent flipped onto its feet and ran towards the kitchen sink, on the opposite side of the kitchen as the stove. Emerald calmly stared after the rodent, and it was only after some seconds of silence that I figured out something was wrong. I peered under the cabinet overhang where the rodent should have been, but the only thing there was yet another mouse hole. Dang!

The rodent escaped, presumably unharmed. The cats are too well fed to have interest in hunting beyond inflicting pain on other creatures. These kibble-fed kitties need their killer instincts sharpened. So, as I wrote today's blog, when Emerald brought into the apartment—Laura's apartment, in fact—a lizard, I gave her free rein. And Emerald killed it. Well, almost killed it. She ripped the lizard into three pieces before losing interest; the lizard continued breathing its final breaths, slowly. It's saddening to see a harmless reptile die such a death, but that lizard is necessary warm-up for tonight—for tonight the cats do battle again!

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I'll be out of town for the next week-and-a-half, and I won't blog again until Thursday, July 21.