Also burrowing... a mouse. Fortunately for us, he did not come searching for food and shelter in our house. Unfortunately for my sister, he did find her house to be inviting. She called me the other day after hearing some rustling in the closet with her water heater. As usual, I went straight to the computer to look up plans of action. I prescribed peppermint oil and cat hair (not mixed together). What's the best way to scatter cat hair? Bring in a cat, of course. And who has a cat or two to spare? I do!
The challenge then became which cat to send. Lorenzo versus Linda. Lorenzo has a hunting instinct but no claws and extreme vehicular anxiety. Fat Linda has evil claws but no aggression or brain power. In the end, I went with the cat that would give me the least trouble on the car ride over.
In order to accommodate the transport, I had to get her into a cage. I didn't realize that she did not fit through the door. I had to remove the top and wrestle her inside. I think she exceeded the weight and girth allowance; she seemed to be touching every wall at once. I was afraid to use the handle.
Luckily the trip over was very brief, or I think we might have lost the big girl. I brought her into the mouse closet and released her. She showed no interest. She was too busy panicking and spraying her butt juice all over (sorry, I know that's gross... but truth is truth). After giving her affection and telling her a story about soft pillows and bacon fat, I led her to the corner with mouse droppings. She sniffed around for a moment and then decided to lie down on top of the little turds. That was it. That was the extent of her exterminating skills. She didn't move. Just sat there. We decided to leave her in there for a little while so we could get food. Fat Linda cried at the closet door, heedless of the mouse that was running around inside the walls.
Here is Fat Linda, lying on mouse poop, distracted by her reflection.
Mouse hunting is hard work.
We came to pick her up, shoved her back in her box and took her back to the safety of her home. No mice were harmed in the cat hair myth testing.
So... contrary to popular belief, not all cats were meant for hunting and removing mice. The mouse in my sister's closet was probably feeling like Fievel in American Tail and singing about no cats in America. He arranged transport out of the closet by stepping into a humane no-kill trap. He was later released outside where he ran immediately to someone else's house. He likely has no fear of cats now. I wonder if he will tell all his mice friends about the idiotic cat who sat on his poop, then they will all come to my house and eat the Doritos out of our pantry.
Good grief, Fat Linda, you fail us again.
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