Spoiler Alert: the Mouse Gets Eaten

Cats are just as full of personality as any human. This is not news to cat people, of course, and I guess I am, after all, more of a cat person than a dog person. I like the independence of felines. They don't really need you until they do, and that suits me just fine. I don't always enjoy the constant love and affection of a dog -- not that I don't appreciate their loyalty and devotion. Far from! It's just that dogs smell so awful when they're wet. And who knows where their tongues have been moments before they lick your face thoroughly??

Having said that, cats do pose their own sorts of challenges. We got our cat, Lincoln, for Gabrielle's birthday last year, and he's a character. Myles, our older, bigger tom, is really kind of a scaredy-cat, if you'll pardon the expression. He was always cautious, but when he got picked up by the pound for hanging out with the wrong crowd around an apartment building a number of years ago, he got even more cautious. We were lucky to locate him after he disappeared, and my sister bought his freedom from the animal shelter cage for $150, which was more than most of us could afford at that time. Lincoln, however, is the quintessential boy: curious, active, and always ready for a fight. Once we got him neutered, he settled down a great deal, and now he and Myles are the best of friends where once they were devoted enemies.

Myles doesn't make a lot of sounds, but I can pretty much read his mind because I've known him for nine years. He will come and sit in front of me, not quite looking into my eyes and giving the occasional tail twitch or eye wink and I'll know he's thirsty and his water's gone or that he wants to be let outside. He purrs immediately when I stoop down to give him a good scratch under the chin. Lincoln I don't know all that well yet. He plunks himself down in front of me, stares me directly in the eyes, and gives me the most earnest look a cat ever gave, and I'll still have to guess what he wants. He has a little, squeaky mew, like a kitten's, and when he gets bored at night he'll stand outside my door mewing until I drag myself out of bed and try to guess what it is he wants me to do for him. I would ignore him, but I'm a light sleeper and he'll just mew until I get up anyway. He's got me well and thoroughly trained. If, after I've tried to let him outside or give him a little food and it turns out that's not what he wanted, I'll grab Myles off his proud spot on our bed and dump him outside my room door. "Go entertain Lincoln, Myles. You're nocturnal." Usually, Lincoln will shut up and the two will either lick each other vigorously until they start to play fight, or they'll run like crazy things up and down the stairs. I just try to get back to sleep.

The other morning, I spotted a mouse on the floor of the pantry. After my initial surprised yelp, I turned around and grabbed Myles so I could throw him into the pantry and he could do his job. He didn't understand what I was doing and was quite affronted at my efforts to throw him anywhere. I dropped him and grabbed Lincoln, who was too surprised to argue. The moment Lincoln's feet hit the floor, he located the mouse and grabbed it. Mouse in his mouth, he came out of the pantry to get some entertainment from his breakfast. Unfortunately for him, however, the mouse had expired either from suffocation or fear. He refused to play. Lincoln batted the tiny, furry body around for a moment and then looked at me with his big, brown eyes. I was heading downstairs for something, and he followed me eagerly, and this time I could tell he was waiting for me to throw him at another mouse. "Hey, buddy," I said to him, "I'm not the mouser around here."

When Linc and I got back upstairs, Myles had helped himself. The mouse tail was sticking out of his mouth while he chewed vigorously. Myles is not picky about those sorts of things. Good boy. I'm just glad our cats don't lick me.