Cats, Mice and Olympic Ambition

Catching Mice Should Be an Olympic Sport

I’ve never been a runner. But yell, “Jack’s got a mouse!” and watch me take off like an Olympic sprinter after the starting gun. Unlike my Olympic counterparts, my 50-yard dash doesn’t end when I cross the finish line. It ends when I fling open the back door and stab a finger at the garage door button. Even then, I don’t actually win until the door closes fully – with the cat and his mouse still outside.

I’m not sure what compels my cat Jack to bring his prize into the garage after every successful hunt. Perhaps he believes catching mice is akin to takeout; you order your food and bring it home to eat. But why wouldn’t outdoor dining appeal? You’d think an al fresco picnic under a shady tree in the backyard would be preferable to chowing down while crouching under the lawnmower. Fine dining is about ambiance.

Resist the urge to show off

Perhaps he is just showing off. That would explain why he stops every few paces in his trek toward the house to flip his limp victim into the air. He’s trying to get my attention. But since he’s still headed for my garage with his mouse, I’m not impressed by the double layout with a full twist. I do appreciate the extra time the gymnastics exhibition gives me to close the garage door, however.

My biggest objection to Jack’s hunting prowess is that catching does not always equal killing. While it’s disconcerting enough to discover guts on the mat (note to self: always put on shoes before going into the garage), it’s exponentially more disturbing to find a maimed but still breathing casualty on my doorstep. It sounds a little bloodthirsty, but can’t he just end the poor thing outright rather than making me an accomplice?

My Olympic sprinting career does not just apply to keeping mice out of the garage. I have run similar races to prevent birds and even chipmunks from being invited home to dinner (for dinner?). Because of their size, those are easier to spot in Jack’s mouth as he crosses the backyard.

Sometimes the cat wins

Once in a while Jack bests me. Last week he came running as usual when I brought the food bowls out. He jumped up on the bench and headed for his dish. But before sticking his nose in, he turned to me and spat out a grasshopper. It hopped toward me, but then Jack grabbed it back. Then let it go. And captured it again.

If playing with your food was an Olympic event, Jack would get the gold medal.

How do you keep unwanted guests from your garage? I’d love to know if you run faster than I do, so share your story in the comments. If you enjoyed this post, subscribe to my website (link in the sidebar or scroll down for mobile users) and I’ll email you when I post a new blog.