Now, this isn’t the usual ‘cat fight'; he truly goes for the throat and gut. I’ve pulled him off other cats.
On the flip side, he loves our dogs, and gets into grooming contests with them. He also loves to play Chase the Kitty. (He’ll streak through the room with the dogs, sometimes leaping over them. While in the air, he’ll tap them with a paw, just to make sure he’s got their attention. Then off they all go. It’s noisy, fast, and fun!)
One of the habits he’s gotten into is running around at night, playing with whatever he can. He’ll dig around in the little paper bins we have at our desks, pull out a scrap of paper, and play soccer with it. I’ll find the strangest things in the strangest places sometimes.
One night, in May, he was making so much racket that I had to get up and see what was up. He was playing soccer with some paper, under the dining room table. I turned on the light, and gave him heck for making so much noise. He just looked at me, like I had the tv on ‘pause'; his eyes dilated hugely. (I knew he’d be right back at it, just as soon as I turned out the light.)
And he was LOUD about it…. he was making a HUGE, DEEP merowh noise, one I’d never heard before. At this point all the doglets were barking; they wanted to be part of the fun.
On came the lights again. (Did I bother to mention that this was about 3am?)
I opened my mouth to give him heck again, when what did I see but something strange in his jaws?? It had a tail. And eyes. And wasn’t moving.
It was a mouse; one of those little cute deermice. IN MY HOUSE. No wonder he was having so much fun…
I watched him. (I knew I didn’t, 1. want to touch the mouse, and 2. take it from him.) He watched me. The mouse didn’t move. I thought, Surely, it’s dead.
He put it down. IT RAN. Right behind the paint cans that were there.
And here’s where it gets interesting.
The mouse went to the right side, behind the can. And waited. Amber when to the right side, in front of the can. And waited.
The mouse went to the left side, behind the can. And waited. Amber when to the left side, in front of the can. And waited.
Rinse. Repeat. Again. Again.
I watched this happen, at least 10 times. Then I moved the can, just a little.
The mouse dashed out. And Amber gently picked it up in his jaws. Took it into the kitchen. Put it down. Played in that room. Then they changed back to the dining room. (Yes, he carried it there.)
Then, it ran downstairs. I thought, Well, that’s that. The Mouse is in the House.
Nope. He was back upstairs with the mouse in an hour.
James was in New York City during that week. When he came home, I told him the story. He waited that night, and when it happened again, he caught the mouse.
And put him in an aquarium (no water, for you folks who worry about such things.) And I had to name him. After all, this may not have been the ‘original’ mouse; but we needed a name for Amber’s BFF. Here’s his picture. I named him Peekaboo.
James took him across the little creek beside our property, figuring he’s still alive, but now in a different country (for a mouse) and wouldn’t be back.
Hah! His wife came looking for him the following night.
Two weeks later, the kids came out. These were small enough that Amber didn’t think of them as friends, but instead, (finally), as maybe a snack. I came out at the now-familiar soccer noises and weird, deep cat howls to find him licking the back half of a young mouse. (As in, there was no front half. No blood either.) He seemed VERY confused.
So, we bought a mouse trap, the kind that traps them live, not kills them. Haven’t caught any. Neither has Amber. We’re all wondering if Peekaboo is done with his playdates.