I wake up to the sound of Loki bouncing about the carpet. I recognize that pattern of sound very well. It's the sound of a cat bouncing around captured prey, most likely still alive. So I know the truth long before I actually see it. There is a live mouse on my carpet. For the time being it's corralled in one spot by a happy, bouncing cat.
My first plan is to stick it in the bathroom, cat, mouse and all and just go back to sleep. Ignorance is bliss. But the more awake I get, the more I realize it's not a terrific plan. So after chasing cat and mouse around the apartment for a good while I gather the courage to capture it (mice can bite and give diseases, alright!). With a plastic bag between my hand and a tiny little warm, breathing mouse, I realize that I, I indeed, I have a live mouse in my hand, how incredibly cool I am to pick it up. (No I don't know why, it's four in the morning damn it.) So I proudly toss it out, and Loki runs after, picks it up, and jumps back in the window.
Another circle chase, I close the window, and he jumps right into the glass. Well sorry, cat. We have a communication issue. I'd rather not have a mouse gnawing on my computer cables. And mom would probably not want mouse blood on the carpet. If you ate it in the bathroom I could clean it up easy, but I can't tell you that, can I.
I did learn something about myself. When the damned thing ran right over my feet, I was too terrified by the absolutely disgusting idea of stepping on it to actually freak out and jump away.
At least my first instinct wasn't to take a picture. That's the sign of blog-/facebook brain damage.
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