By Beauty Damned

Hunting

My friend has been having a mouse problem in her apartment in Carroll Gardens. She hears them in the night in the stove and in the cupboards. Her cat is 18 years old and just stands there and cries about it, but does nothing. So my friend has turned into a homicidal maniac, killing mice with traps left and right. Just the other night at dinner she was describing in juicy and animated detail about how good it felt to know that she was getting rid of the bastards one at a time and she doesn't feel the least bit bad about it. Some people at the table were cringing, but even I, as a person who was raised Buddhist, could relate to the feeling of satisfaction she is deriving from these killings. Not because I like killing, but because having mice or other pests is like having intruders in your home that you can't see or banish, but you have to hear them and see the havoc that they have wreaked on your possessions. You have to imagine all the disgusting things that their kind bring. Droppings and such. Chewing holes in things. Living the life while you lose your mind trying to make them go away and leave you be.

I felt so grateful when listening to her story that I have never had any pest problems in this home & have never heard so much as the rustle of a rodent. Have never seen a spider, though in the summertime there is the occasional gag inducing silverfish or gigantic flying beatle thing that gets in. Luckily, my cat Matilda pursues them with vengeance and does not rest until she is satisfied that they are dead or lucky enough to have escaped her razor sharp claws into some hiding place.

So imagine my surprise when I got up this afternoon after six hours of sleep following a long night of partying and through my blurred vision, spotted some strange object lying on the floor under the dining room table. I just assumed it was a leaf that had been tracked into the house or some other such thing. So I went about my business, putting on water for coffee and using the bathroom. Once my vision cleared though, I walked by the thing again and knelt down for a closer look.

I saw fur. I saw blood. But no eyes, legs, ears or any other identifiable characteristics. Just a hunk of bloody flesh and fur. I thought Matilda was looking a little cocky this morning. A little more energy and pride emanating from her than usual. Little more bounce in her step. She looked up at me a couple times with those begging-for-approval-and-a-pat-on-the-head-or-possible-scratch-on-the-ass eyes. Now it all made sense. She had caught an intruder. It had probably been lurking in the dark recess behind my laundry/boiler room. She was back there for an unusually long time yesterday.

So I called my friend with the mouse problem and she was delighted in that deeply morbid way of hers, but mostly jealous that I had a rodent and my cat actually did something about it. Good girl Matilda! Baaad Eartha.

Posted by Maria at April 4, 2004 02:05 PM | TrackBack