“You need another cat,” said my mother last December.
“I’m not over the last one,” I replied.
“There’s another cat just waiting for you down at the Humane Society,” she insisted. “You go down there and check them out. You’ll see.”
I would have dismissed the whole idea, but the Universe had other plans. On the night of December 23, I was awakened by a weird sensation. I came to just enough to realize that something was nibbling on my right little finger.
Naturally, I screamed and jerked my hand away, but not before very sharp teeth bit hard into the very end of my pinky. When I got the light on, a small amount of blood was trickling down my hand, so I knew for certain I had not dreamed the whole thing.
For days, I set out trays of aqua poison pellets. And every night, something, or some things, emptied the tray. I set traps, but caught nothing. I discovered the pipes under my bathroom sinks had space around them and shoved foil tightly into the openings.
“Did you get another cat yet?” asked Mom in early January.
“I don’t want a cat,” I repeated. “I couldn’t bear it if I had to bury another pet.”
“You could keep this one inside.”
“I don’t want to deal with cleaning a cat box.”
“It’s been months,” said Mom.
“Seven months, three weeks and two days.”
“It’s time,” she replied.
So the next day I trotted down to the Humane Society and plopped myself down in the cat room. To make a long story shorter, I brought home a nine-month-old orange tabby. I set the carrier down in the living room and opened the door. He immediately bolted across the room and up the Christmas tree.
I opened my mouth to yell at him, but didn’t have a name picked out. I had, however, just seen the movie “Chipwrecked.”
“ALVIN!!!” I yelled.
And Alvin instantly became my beloved inside cat. Today we celebrate eight months together. For his party offering, he brought the back half of a mouse.
This is the third mouse he’s captured in the past two months. I have no idea how they’re getting in—the poison, traps and foil under the sinks remains intact. But one thing’s for certain… I haven’t been bitten since he moved in.
And that’s worth the price of a little Mouse Breath!