Wanna know how useless our cat is? I found mouse crap in her food dish.
That was in the basement. Yesterday, I found mouse crap on the main floor.
Here I am living with a cat and I’m setting mousetraps all over the damn house. The wife speaks of getting another cat because ours is defective.
She realizes this now, after seventeen years with this lackadaisical feline. To me, the signs have been present for a long time:
- She’s afraid of mice. A few years ago we realized we had mice in the garage, so we put her out there and shut the door, figuring she’d handle the problem. Immediately she began howling in terror and scratching at the door. This lasted about 30 minutes until we relented, having finally stopped laughing. Sure, it was funny the first twenty minutes. But you know you have problems with your mouser when she won’t stop yelling (I translate) “Let me out! There are MICE IN HERE!!!”
- She’s a friend to chipmunks. The Kid looked out the window one day and exclaimed “Oh noooo! You’ll never live this down!” What she saw was the cat, HER CAT, sitting on the porch next to a chipmunk, which was still alive and rather unconcerned, and they appeared to be on friendly terms. I mean, they weren’t arm in arm singing “Ebony and Ivory”, but they may as well have been.
- And now I’ve found mouse crap in the cat’s food dish. It’s like they know how useless she is and can’t even be bothered to hide their contempt. They’re probably laughing it up somewhere in the walls.
So the Missus wants to get a new cat to handle this problem.
I’m not sold.
Sure, I’ve had plenty of cats in the past, and they were all bloodthirsty for Disney icons. Every single one of them could not get enough of killing mice, birds, chipmunks, and probably me if they had a chance. Even the bad ones were full-blooded killers.
But this cat has been here for seventeen years and for all I know will hang on for another seventeen just to irritate us. She’s worthless as a cat when it comes to doing cat things (on the plus side she pukes regularly). The dogs have caught more mice. For years I’ve become so used to setting mouse traps and disposing of the bodies that I don’t even think what I’m doing is a cat’s primary job function.
I’ve been so abused by this cat’s refusal that I’ve actually accepted her worldview: My cat has given me Stockholm Syndrome.
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