I get it; everyone loves St. Bob. But why does this focus group have to include our cat, Simon? We got that wingnut out of a box of free kittens and he turned out to be a Chartreux, a cat bred in France to be a champion mouser.
However, nobody said, “By the way, he’ll be bringing those mice into your bedroom at night.” Or, “I hope you can do math, because if you can divide three into two, that’s how often he’ll be doing this.”
Yes, over the last two nights he has brought in THREE mice, and has wailed at the top of his lungs to let us know. Also, he’s been drenched because he doesn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain. He also brings in birds. And evidently dreams of them:
But he will come in to present his gifts to Bob, his favorite human. (I am just the Plus One who scrubs white carpeting with hydrogen peroxide to clean up after the murder.)
“Just marry him and get it over with,” I muttered to Bob last night, after the third hideous episode.
Richie, our eldest, says cats do this because they think we can’t hunt. Really. And what genius determined this? Did they interview cats to see how they think? Did my tax dollars pay for a grant to talk to cats? Do hunters receive no little gifts of prey from their cats? I’ll bet you a gray Chartreux that cats do this just because they want to, and are not analyzing our weaponry skills or the meat we haul home.
But if Richie’s right, and Simon knows we’re now vegan, we are in major trouble.
But here's the perfect thing to do when your cat wakes you up in the night: Read one of my books! And, dare I say, they make wonderful Christmas gifts.