I’m not sure what it was that alerted me. Perhaps it was a hint of Eau de Mouse, one of my favorite scents, or the whispery sound of cat food nuggets shifting position in my dish. It may have been something far more remarkable and unique, my Extra Sensory Cat Perception, giving me warning. Whatever the reason, my whiskers twitched, telling me the winery premises had been breached.
I was on my paws and slinking toward the distillation room in seconds. Coming around the door frame, I crouched even lower and placed each paw slow and careful, soft and silent. The scent of Eau de Mouse was definite now. It’s zesty and wild, unlike every other smell, and promises a savory meal if I can procure the varmint.
I didn’t blink, didn’t move, and although I was in such a state of anticipation I was in danger of drooling, I didn’t purr. I was tense, muscles bunched, ready for takedown.
There! Tiny feet tapping the concrete floor, racing around equipment and supplies. Stopping at my food dish. I beat back my anger and waited. Waited until I heard the scrape of Friskies® Seafood Sensations against my plastic dish, telling me the interloping rodent was distracted.
Slow, slow, slow, I inched forward. The potent smell became intense. Muscles coiled, I sucked in a big breath. One more quarter inch….The little pest was in my food dish! I pounced.
Missed! The same instant I leapt, he started back to his hidey-hole. My dish flipped and Seafood Sensations flew in every direction. My paw came down on his tail, but before I could lengthen my reach and extend my claws to complete the snatch, it jerked away. My stomach lurched.
I tore after him.
A mouse chase requires fast reflexes, critical thinking, and stamina. A mouse is tiny and he’ll squeeze through a space the size of a dime. When I don’t fit under or in-between, I go over or around. It’s a mad, perilous race, and I threw every bit of my strength and determination and cunning into this one.
Behind me something fell and smashed—a glass beaker, perhaps. Suddenly, there he was! Breathing hard, running full out, his tiny pink feet, sleek gray fur, and glittering black eyes a blur as he charged to the place I instinctively knew he called home—the wooden pallet on the far side of the room. I pushed harder, hurtled toward him full tilt, and didn’t pull up.
A mere second ahead, he slid under the pallet and I hit hard.
The body blow left me stunned. I sat, blinked, waited for the world to stop swaying and willed my roiling stomach to still. I gave my face a cautious feel. It was still there.
“Bro?”
It was Mustache. He gave my forehead a couple licks and a bit of the hurt melted away.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I twitched my nose and gave my tail a slash.
“I smell mouse, don’t I?” he asked. “How did it advance all the way to the inner sanctum? How did it avoid the traps?”
My brother sounded as cross as I felt. This wasn’t supposed to happen; the entire perimeter was armed with mouse traps. “I caught him eating out of our dish,” I blurted.
He made a rough noise and closed his eyes. I understood; I felt the same.
No noise from the pallet, but I knew the little crumb-eater was under there. Probably laughing his tail off.
“It’s only a matter of time,” I whispered into his hiding place. “You should go find some d-CON® and enjoy a last meal. It’d be a far more pleasant end than your only alternative--being my dinner.” I pictured him listening in the dark, wide-eyed, nose quivering. “I think I’ll call you d-CON. A special mouse needs a special name, after all.” I positioned my mouth in front of the mouse-space under the pallet, and smiled big so he’d catch the gleam of my canines. Then I gave a Hannibal Lecter swipe of my tongue around the edge of my muzzle.
“What if He Who Must Be Obeyed finds out a mouse has breached the perimeter?” Mustache asked. “What’s he going to think?”
“It hasn’t happened before, and he’ll know we’re taking care of it,” I assured him. I gave Mustache a firm look. “This mouse—d-CON—is in a different league, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get the best of me. No mouse is getting the best of me.”
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