Saving Mousekin

I just had to stop mother nature right in her tracks. I didn't want to. I prefer to turn a blind eye and let nature take her little course. We had just walked outside when Goldie said (in a strangely calm manner), "Muffin has a mouse." I walked over and sure enough, Muffin had a mouse. Muffin is my parent's cat . . . not that they have ever in their lives really wanted or ever actually purchased a cat, but their proximity to empty hollows and fields seems to mean that cats will forever be stopping by, and every now and then, one decides to stay. For days and weeks it will sit on the window sill or the deck until finally my dad gives in, names it, and buys it cat food. It is never allowed inside, yet it stays. Herman was the cat that chose to stay for all of my growing up years -- til he politely wandered off to die in the great cat death fields wherever they may be, and Muffin has been here for about the past five years. She's a nice enough cat and very gentle (though she high-tails it out of town the minute Penny sets her sights on her).

So, there was Muffin, with a mouse in her paws. She must have pounced only that very moment because the mouse was clearly still alive and well. I must admit, I paused. I was unsure how best to proceed. My instinct was to rush Goldie inside and try to forget all about Muffin and her mouse. We are sleeping in the basement at my parents and I'm not sure but what it is Muffin keeping us free from little mousy visitors. Plus, as any of you who might have read my chicken post of long ago know, I have had bad luck when intervening in the natural course of things.

My pause didn't last long though because Goldie's calm voice began to take on a bit more of an edge as she questioned, "Mom, why aren't you making him let it go?" I sighed, partly for poor Muffin who was only doing what cats do, then I shewed her away. The mouse ran happily towards the house (having so narrowly escaped certain doom) likely to show up in my bedroom ere long. I will say however, that I couldn't help but, for a minute, think of Lucifer (the cat) and the little mice of Cinderella, and the thought of that little mouse scampering off to sew buttons and snip thread as he makes me a beautiful dress is a cheery enough one to help me not regret my interference too much.

P.S. The two nice mice pictured here were compliments of: #1 -- yours truly, and #2 -- Abraham