Oh Meeces to Peices!

Have I mentioned that my cat, Trinket is a mouser? And I know this because, well, she caught and killed a mouse a little while back. More accurately, she hunted down, cornered, chased, batted about, clawed, toyed with, carried around in her mouth and scared the bejeezus out of a mouse one day. And the next, while it recovered from all the fun, found it, pounced on it and killed it (removing the tail in the process and I still don't know where I'll find that) and then brought it to me as a prize while I slept in my bed. (I should keep a paper bag on the bedpost for breathing into in moments like this. The horse head scene from the Godfather is a very accurate representation of how that discovery plays out in real life.)

So, Trinket, more recently is inexplicably MIA all night. Normally, she sleeps on my bed. Mostly on my person, usually in a nook or cranny that naturally exists in the adult female human form, which is nice and toasty, but a little disconcerting. When I wake up and realize she hasn't warmed up a little spot on me or my bed all night, I am a little concerned.

I walk down the steps and as I get to the landing, I see her dart from the foyer to the dining room and possibly beyond.

I begin turning on lights. I can't see her in the dining room or kitchen. I walk down the basement steps whispering her name. I am not at all sure why I'm whispering. I don't see her anywhere, but she can be pretty elusive. I recall that the day before Hil came home to find that the breakaway collar she wears (with the little jingle bell that announces her arrival) had come off. The last time that had happened was just before the last Mouse Episode. I assumed then and assume now, that the breakaway collar broke away in a tussle with a mouse who was under attack. I realize that I am sweating in anticipation.

I continue to whisper Trinket's name and look all around the nooks and crannies of the basement for where she might be hiding, (and giggling that I can't find her). I don't see her, but I do hear something.

Squeaking.

Oh. My. God.

I look around for a mouse. I don't see anything. As I walk back up the stairs I am praying that the squeaking is just Trinket mimicking a mouse, like she sometimes mimics birds she is hoping to fool into coming close enough for her to pounce on.

As I ascend the stairs, I am eye level with the dining room rug. I see Trinket sitting casually beneath a dining chair.

And two feet in front of her is tiny gray mouse, huddled against that woodwork. Huffing and puffing and squeaking in distress.

And I am suddenly pitting out.