Around 1AM I gave up and came downstairs, figuring on pulling Coco into my lap for pats, snuggles and a restorative purr session. Great idea, no? Yeah, while coming down the steps I saw that my little princess was diving under one end of the sofa, like Ty Cobb stealing home. She slid out the other side and leaped into the air like Baryshnikov dancing Tharp. Huh, I thought, maybe she’s got a mousey on the run.
Yup, she sure did. At first, in the low light, without my glasses, I didn’t see the poor fellow but there he was, scampering and bouncing along just ahead of our girl.
Now, here’s the funny thing. At one point, she stopped chasing him. She just plopped down in the middle of the living room floor. Was this a time out, an intermission? After a minute, Mister Mouse came out from under the sofa, walked up to his harasser, jumped up in her face a bit and, when she didn’t respond, he parked his tiny self right next to her…RIGHT NEXT TO HER!
Was this cat and mouse death match all just a game for them both? Did the poor, wee rodent not understand that he’d get offed at the end? Was he suicidal but thought he’d go out in some epic struggle?
I watched for a while longer before heading back to bed. The two of them clocked back in and got back to their Tom & Jerry shit. Climbing the stairs, I wished so hard that The Amazing Bob would magically be there so I could wake him for a rousing discussion on the existential implications of what I’d just witnessed. Hey, who doesn’t like to be roused from good, solid rack time for a convo about cats, mice and the meaning of life? Honestly now!
This morning, as I was heading out the door, I found Signor Topo’s poor battered corpse. Coco was perched on the windowsill above him, clearly pleased with herself. Of course I praised her prowess, thanked her for the excellent work and gave her a treat. Then I disposed of her quarry.
TAB would’ve been so proud of our warrior princess.
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