Here he is. Ten years old, he is called Rojo. Yesterday, Cat came near to realizing a deep, unknown and unfulfilled inner dream. Or maybe he was never even close…
I woke to strange noises, reeled my way down the steps. What’s that Cat doing!? OMG there was a dark, slightly oval hockey puck ricocheting back and forth all over the dining/living/kitchen room floor! A blur faster than the eye could follow, with the Cat a whisker behind! CHUCK! Get up!
That mouse could only run in a straight line, instantly changing direction at each wall. Here, there, then under the couch. Pause. Oh RATS! We’ll have to get a trap. Then he’s back out with 10 more laps around the room!
Scared, not me! Great reflexes! I jumped immediately to the bunk level and held a rug as a wall in case mouse headed up the steps. Then, loyally stayed out of the way behind it to cheer Chuck on. On each pass, Bang – Bang - Bang with a heavy hiking shoe. Just when it seemed hopeless, a quick one to the head! Thankfully, on the vinyl linoleum rather than the woven rug.
While the body was tossed into the forest behind the rig, I sprayed cleaner on the spot. My hero wiped it up. What a team!
How the critter got in is still a mystery. Cat remembers him occasionally, checking the corners. But that won’t last long.
