Mouse catching Season -- by KittyCat

Fall is play-with-mice time. Once, I almost got to play with one in our house—and could’ve, too, except I’d caught it about the same time Mom saw it and told Dad. Ha, ha...told? So I headed for the door thinking Dad would open it and I’d take my toy outside. But he’d gotten instructions by then. Mom isn't bossy very often, but when she is, Dad doesn't even take the time to say “yes’m.” 

He grabs me to take the mouse. I turn to hiss, and drop the mouse. It runs in Mom’s direction. She screams—at me, Dad, the mouse or—I pounce and pick up the mouse. It’s so scared I can feel its heart beating like a dozen drums tapping my teeth. It drops teeny poops on the carpet. Mom goes crazy—totally bats. Shocked, I drop the mouse. It runs under an easy chair. Dad tilts the chair, and the mouse is off again. Using Dad for a springboard, I give chase, but this time the mouse runs up the wall. The wall’s too smooth for me. The mouse zips across the wall; then it bolts down into its hole where two baseboards meet.   

Since then, mouse hunting’s no fun at my place, so yesterday I crossed the street to our friend, Chris’ yard. I sniffed out a mouse family’s hiding place, and stared at their entrance until my eyelids and head dropped. I woke up with a cold wind ruffling my fur. I climbed a tree and got on the roof of Chris’ house where it was sunny, and warm, and from up there I’d check out the whole back yard for critters...after my nap. 

I woke up more interested in food than play, but soon saw how it was easier getting on the roof than off. Luckily, Chris was in his back yard, and I cried out to him. He quit his work and went over to my house.

Soon Mom, Dad and Chris were all looking up at me. Dad said I got myself up there, and could get myself down. Mom gave him that look. He ignored it. I called up a heap of courage from somewhere, and after a few starts, managed to jump to a half-sturdy tree limb. I made it to a crook in the tree, but it was too steep to step down, and too far to jump. Chris found a box to stand on, and started to reach for me, but Dad took over. He picked me up, and handed me to Mom.

Maybe Chris helped because he’s Dad’s buddy. But I think he likes me too, cuz he invited me to mouse hunt in his yard whenever I want to. I think that’s where I’m headed next cuz fall won’t last much longer. Unless they're scampering around the garage, (at our house that's not likely) the cold winter is definitely not play-with-mice time.

(c) 2011, Bernice W. Simpson