The Whiskas Chronicles – Partners in Crime

Posted: June 1, 2008 in animals, Life, Nature
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

This week I had to murder a mouse, thanks to my white furry feline friend, Whiskas.

Mucho wailing in the middle of the night, which earned him a loud “For F sake, shut up,” and resulted in me waking up like a bear with a sore paw, had me determined that I was going to hit the cat where it hurt – his belly. The only one way to teach him that breakfast is a privilege and not a right is to withdraw feeding privileges the moment he strays from the righteous path. In short breakfast for Whiskas was off the menu.

My steely resolve to show him who was boss disintegrated when I opened the bamboo blinds and saw the reason for his nocturnal singing…a present in the shape of a tiny field mouse.

It’s an aspect of cats which I don’t particularly like, but it is in their nature and I wasn’t about to punish him for bringing me a gift. Problem was, he hadn’t actually finished the job; the poor creature was still alive.
But Whiskas had damaged it enough to make sure that it wasn’t going to recover and run off. Its back legs were clearly useless; it tried to drag itself along by its front paws, managing only a few inches before it collapsed on its side, exhausted.

It was heartbreaking to watch and I didn’t know what to do. Actually, I did know what I should do, I just didn’t want to do it.
As Andy and I watched the pathetic creature try to drag itself across the terrace, Whiskas appeared.
‘Aha,’ I thought. ‘This is my get out card.’
“Look Whiskas. Get the mouse.” I pointed to the rodent, but was he interested? Was he buggery. He’d had his fun, the mouse was of no interest to him.

Cats are sadistic creatures. Sometimes I’m not sure I like them very much. Is there any other creature, apart from humans, which tortures for fun?

“I think you’re going to have to bash its brains in…” suggested Andy from her Pontius Pilate position inside the house. “…or build it a little wheelchair.”
Yeah, thanks, very helpful.

Killing the mouse was the only humane thing to do, but knowing that and doing it are two different things. I stared at the creature for a few moments then took a deep breath.

When I was a kid we used to visit my aunt and uncle’s farm every summer. Most of it was great ‘Enid Blyton’ type fun, but every so often reality would creep in. A kitten would get half squashed by a sheep in the barn, or something. Remembering how my older cousin used to deal with these situations with the minimum of fuss and no mess, I grabbed the mouse by the tail, walked over to the watering can and held the poor thing under the water till it drew its last breath.

It wasn’t an easy thing for me to do. I’ll probably be troubled by pangs of guilt for weeks, but I think it was the right course of action.

Oh the joys of being adopted by a cat.

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