M-O-U-S-E

I'll admit that I am distracted as I write this.

With the cold snap last night, accompanied by a frost warning that will surely send my pots of pansies into a tailspin, the flora and fauna are all running for cover.

And a tiny little mouse has taken shelter in my house.

Bad idea.

Trinket spent the night chasing and banging around the house. I told myself, as I pulled the pillow over my head, that she was merely intrigued by a sighting of the big orange cat. But secretly I knew she'd found a living breathing toy to play with. 

And now we'll get to see how the cats respond to this little turn in events together.

Will Trinket be a territorial little beyotch and take her eyes off the mouse to take a few swipes at Gidget  and chase her off of her hunting grounds? 

Will Trinket welcome Gidget in the hunt,  and will she make an excellent wing man?  Double  teaming the little pest and cornering it under the desk Dad made in wood shop in the space where I hide the printer? 

Will we finally confirm that Gidget truly has a vision problem and watch with pity as the pathetic little thing hunts by sense of smell?

I am already guessing that Gidget is not a mouser.  I came downstairs to make the kids' lunches and pour some coffee and the cats would have normally come running into the kitchen.  Under normal circumstances, they'd harass me for some tuna or turkey or some little treat to start the day.

Trinket stayed riveted to the Thing Under The Desk.  I could have walked into the room wearing sparklers in my hair and she'd have taken no notice.

But when I went to fill up Gidget's bowl with Kitten Chow, she came running. It may be her youth.  I remember my brother had this kid on his baseball team when we were growing up. He was young and sort of stupid.  His mother (who evidently had no interest in his games...) had told him to be home for dinner at 6:30.  And at 6:20, he left his post in left field, hopped the home run fence and headed for home, glove in hand, with one out and two men on base.  My Dad nearly croaked.

That's Gidge.  Time to eat, gotta go.

So it will be interesting to see what I arrive home to today. A dead and dismembered thing is a given.  The body count is my real concern. 

With two cats in the game, it's anyone's guess who will come out swinging at whom.

And I am sure Hil will make the obligatory "OH-MY-GOD-THERE'S-A-DEAD-THING-IN-THE-KITCHEN-I-CAN'T-GO-IN-THERE-AND-I-NEED-A-SNACK-CAN-YOU-COME-HOME-NOW-HURRY-I'M-STARVING-YOU-DON'T-UNDERSTAND-CAN-I-GO-TO-CASEY'S-HOUSE-THEY-DON'T-HAVE-MICE-EEEWWW-GROSS" phone call and I'll have to drop everything and go home, lest someone get the vapors and need hospitalization.

More later. On this saga as it unfolds, and of course, J. and his girls.