Dead mouse infestation!

And by “infestation,” I mean… there was a dead mouse in my junk closet. How did it get there? More worryingly…where there’s one, mightn’t there be more? It was about this time last year I found a dead mouse in my classroom. Is spring the time for flowers, kittens, AND deceased rodents?

Effie found the dead mouse while I was putting some stuff away. My counterpart’s cat recently died from eating a poisoned mouse, so the frantic mother part of me was not keen on letting Effie have anything to do with the corpse. I shoved her in the bathroom and swept up. I was just going to throw it off the balcony, but there was a babushka gardening below. Now, it’s not very neighborly to send dead mice raining down on an unsuspecting old woman, so I carried it all the way downstairs to the dumpster instead. When I let Effie out of the bathroom, she ran for the closet and started throwing herself against the door. I let her in. She is now very perturbed by its sudden and mysterious disappearance. I know this because for the last few minutes she has been punctuating her sniffing about with a cry up at me in her confused voice. Yes, she does have a confused voice: it is short and rises to a question mark… very cute.

Effie has decided the best way to handle the situation is to slowly stalk about the apartment with dilated pupils and carefully investigate every corner and darkened space. She’s gone all hunter on me. It’s sort of cute and pathetic to watch the fat house cat pretend to be a lion. But then, I pretend that I’m a good dancer and have solo dance parties in my apartment every now and again, so I probably shouldn’t judge. Nothing wrong with a little self-delusion. …I don’t have mice. I don’t have mice. I don’t have mice…


Update: As of this writing, Effie is still not normal. I’m beginning to worry. She’s acting scared, startled by any small noise and running for cover. She even shies at me. She’s always been social and unafraid, free from timidity and the wide-eyed “if I pay very close attention, maybe nothing bad will happen” cautiousness that characterizes so many cats. She flings herself down on the floor and stretches out wherever she feels like, whether on one of her beds or in a stranger’s lap. Her easygoing temperament is one reason I thought taking her back to the US wouldn’t be a problem. Now I worry that the mouse has caused some sort of psychological shock – the realization that something completely outside of her experience and slightly disturbing not only exists, but can find its way into her world. If you think about it, from a sheltered cat’s perspective, this could be a huge event. …I’ve been reading a lot of George Eliot. Specifically, the moment Daniel Deronda first became aware that he might possibly be Sir Hugo‘s son: a few words, a brand-new path for thought, and a suddenly altered worldview. George Eliot has me thinking about the peculiar combination of nature and circumstance that form character. I can’t help but think of my cat as a little, psychologically-complex being with assumptions and expectations and confusions. How deep will this go? …Unless I just actually have mice. And she’s only now realized it. Like a bloodhound. One sniff put her onto the trail.

Therefore, the real question of the moment is: is my cat a person or a dog?