If You Give a Mouse CPR

Most people know I’m not a cat person, and yet, despite this we have a cat. The reason for this is simple: Our house was being overrun by mice last winter, and conventional methods such as traps and poisons failed to stem the tide. A cat, therefore, seemed like the only other cost-effective option. After a brief search through Craigslist my wife found a suitable feline candidate that was even advertised as being a good “mouser.”

In short order our mouse problem was no more, even though I only ever saw the cat catch one of the furry little bastards. My guess is that our cat’s mere presence was enough of deterrent to keep the mice at bay.  Since then the cat has been splitting her time between being an entitled indoor cat and a prey-stalking outdoor cat—something akin to a Kardashian living a dual life as a ninja assassin.  It’s not uncommon to open the front door and find the limp body of a once perky chipmunk or hairless baby squirrel at least two or three times a week.
I know the common belief is that these little “gifts” are a cat’s way of showing they are happy, but the reality is cats have an inherent kill pattern programmed into their brains.  That and they are very bad at disposing of the bodies. (See this infographic.) Thus, if you suffer from Phagofelinephobia, take heart, once the cats have had their fill your corpse will be found (of course, on whose doorstep is anybody’s guess). I digress.

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