Playthings -- by KittyCat

Dad was taking off his shoes getting ready to stretch out on the couch and watch football. 

"KittyCat is staring at the baseboard," Mom said.

Dad kinda shrugged, like that’s not something he needs to reply to.

Mom said a little louder and slower, "KittyCat – is – staring – at – the - baseboard."

By this time comfy on the couch, Dad raised his head a bit, just to show he was listening. Then, I guess cuz Mom sounded serious, he acted more interested. "...And?"

"AND." Mom said that kinda loud, like it was real important. "And that means he smells a mouse."

"Oh, he was probably asleep and was just facing that way when he woke up."

"Look at him," Mom said. Now her tone was real flat, and I just had to look at her to see if she was getting ticked

"He’s staring off into space, probably he has nothing else to do."

It’s a good thing Mom doesn't throw things. Well, she does, but it’s words. They’re not TV bad words but if they were heavy or sharp things, they’d bonk a guy pretty hard. But this time she took a deep breath, cuz  she and two friends had made a deal they'd be nice to people. “A minute ago he acted exactly like he does when he smells a mouse,” she said.

“Weather’s changing," Dad said. "Could be he can smell one under the house.”

“Under the house is just under the floor, and under the floor is almost on the floor, and on the floor is like mice running all over the house.”

It really bugs Dad when Mom connects dots that aren't even dots yet. But I guess he could tell she was upset, so he made a joke. “I think if you get enough mice eating them, you don’t need to worry about termites” Dad’s smile looked as big as a painted clown’s.

Mom didn't smile at all. “Fine, she said. We’re overdue for a termite inspection anyway, so I’ll call tomorrow, and while they’re here they can exterminate the mice.”

Dad can do math in his head real fast. “I’ll get bait and put it out tomorrow,” he said. “In the morning,” he added, cuz Mom was already reaching for the phone book. “First thing in the morning.” He gave her that honest-you-can-believe-me look.

So fall is here, and the big fuzzy moths disappeared, grasshoppers have left, crickets are almost gone, and now the mice are zapped. My toys are boring. Vondelle moved away, and I only see Snookie when Aunt Pen comes over.

Well, I guess I can play at chasing leaves as they flutter off the trees. Flutter... Ha, ha. Thinking of mice and crickets, I almost forgot them. Look out birds.

(c) 2012 Bernice W. Simpson

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