I've been a cat owner for only eight and a half years. Certainly a
long-time small furry creature lover, but, until I brought in Maggie
(now around 11) from my then-girlfriend's parking lot, I never had a
cat.

Maggie has never been much of a predator. On the odd occasion when a
bug, lizard, or mouse has gotten in, she'd follow it around with a bit
of detached interest, but not really doing much about it. Perhaps as a
long time apartment (now house) cat, she never really learned how to
hunt. Or, in the months in the parking lot, she had her fill of fresh
catch, and will take her crunchy or gooshy food from a ceramic bowl,
thank you.

Bottom line is, I've had to do all the mouse catching. Not to
worry--there were trappers in my family before we were kicked out of
Nova Scotia (I'm a Cajun), so a couple of humane traps are just part of
a family tradition.

Enter Eddy. Eddy is likely a barn-kitten that was dumped around labor
day. Now nine months, his easy going demeanor wins him friends wherever
he goes, though his favorite is our four month old daughter (oh the
stories). Everyone loves him, with the possible exception of Maggie,
who he constantly tries to win over, but can't resist trying to get her
into his kitten games.

The last few days, though, I've been worried. He's been harassing
Maggie a bit more than usual. Last night, he was doing laps around the
house. What is up?

This morning, I wake to hear our daughter crying. My wife (the
girlfriend from Maggie's parking lot) and I trudge out of bed (way too
early for a Saturday morning) and towards our daughter's room. Eddy is
somehow between us, growling (he never growls!). I flip on the light,
and my wife asks, "what does he have?" It's a mouse!

Instantly, I get mouse duty. I follow Eddy downstairs, then again to
the unfinished basement. For a while, I can't tell if the mouse is dead
or alive. I don't want him to drop it in case of the latter. Overall,
I'd rather he just give it to me. He runs back and forth through the
basement, rubbing against all sorts of dirty things and bicycle chains
(my white cat now has a black stripe).

I realize the mouse is alive. Every so often, he'll put the mouse down,
let it get a little ahead of him, then pounce on it. Or, he'll sit and
look at me while standing on its tail. Has my ex-barncat become so
citified that he doesn't know what to do? Did his mama not teach him?
Is it simply that he has the Best Cat Toy Ever?

In any case, I'm feeling bad for the mouse, and even more worried. I
put on garden gloves (conveniently ppositioned in the basement), and
prepare to grab it.

Each time Eddy drops the mouse, it gets a little further from him.
Finally, it is able to get behind some boards, where neither he nor I
can get to it. A later investigation turns up nothing--he got away. I'm
going to set the traps, and figure out how the critter got in.

Eddy got a bath, to remove the Finish Line bike lube and dust from his
coat, and to de-ick him in my mind. He got pettins' and treats for
being a good mouse-catcher, and dozed in my lap. I'm just going to
ponder the potential dead mouse in my basement, and whether I need to
take Eddy into the vet to remove mouse-cooties (probably a bit
ridiculous).

I still don't want him licking my nose for a while.