Team work

We have mice, so we got a cat.  Now the cat catches mice.  I hate it.  When the cat wasn’t here, the mice kept out of the way.  They probably came and nibbled the butter, but I didn’t know.  Now Izzy likes to bring the mice into the sitting room to play.  Is it my imagination or does she like to catch mice on Mondays and Thursdays – choir and pub nights?  It’s not that I feel sorry for the poor little mice, though there are times she makes Abu Ghraib looks like Butlins; the problem is that I really hate mice.  I’m a wimp.

Bonny isn’t such a good mouser, though Izzy has been known either to give up or lose track of a mouse that Bonny then relocates, but she does enjoy the game.  It must seem to the mouse like it’s dealing with a small and intellectually terrifying torturer with a burly thug, silent but menacing, always over her shoulder (though in this case while the torturer’s tail flicks with evil the thug’s tail wags with unbridled enthusiasm).