Another mouse?

“Hey, Sprout. What do you have there?” I heard Friend ask down the hall. “Something fun?”

I smiled when she came back, then scowled when I saw she still had the Gatorade ring in her hand. “What did he have?” I questioned briskly. “You didn’t give him the ring?”

“He already had a toy.” She said, smiling. “It was once alive. Might still be alive.” She mused. “It’s behind his door.”

“$100.” I offered. “You go get the mouse.” Then I frowned with great concern when she sat down with her laptop again. “Seriously,” I whined. “I can’t do this!”

“You need to get a magnetic dog door.” She advised for the hundredth time.

I whimpered pitifully as I went to the kitchen, searching for heavy-duty grocery bags and copious amounts of paper towels. Then I grabbed the broom and dustpan, proceeding slowly down the hall toward extreme mental torture.

“Is it in my bathroom?” I asked softly, peering around the door while keeping my body safely in the hall – an entire bedroom between me and the ick.

Friend walked briskly by, a couple of paper towels in hand and snatching the bag from me.

“You’re going to get it?!” I asked, thrilled, then took a couple of steps after her, my tools outstretched. “Do you want my broom and dustpan? Gloves? More paper towels?”

“The hard part,” she said, “will be convincing Sprout to give it to me. Go on, Sprout.” She said firmly.

“I’ll get a spray bottle!” I called, eager for a chance to escape the carnage. I – keeping a safe distance – spritzed the cat several times. He just stared at me – he rather likes water. But he was distracted enough that Friend was able to get the ick.

I turned rapidly when she emerged, loathe to see the remains of the creature. “It’s all the way dead.” She announced and I made a horrified face.

“You touched it when it could have been alive? Wait! I don’t know what to do with it yet! Don’t show it to me!”

I moved quickly toward the garage and the heavy garbage bags. Shaking one open, I pretended she wasn’t laughing at me. “OK,” I instructed. “Put it in the bag, but do NOT touch me with it!” Keeping my face turned away, I waited until a gentle weight settled in the bottom. Then I took it outside to the garbage can.

“You picked it up with just a paper towel?” I asked when I returned inside, incredulous. “I am in awe of your bravery.” I added solemnly as she shook her head at me.

“I was going to just pick it up by the tail, but I thought that would freak you out. It’s just a mouse.”

“$200 if you stay the night and deal with any more ick.” I said as she threatened to go home to deal with her indoor cats and laundry. “But what if he brings something else in?!”

“Magnetic dog door.” She reminded. And I sighed.

“Sprout!” I called as I heard him come in once again and race down the hall to my bedroom. “Sprout!”

“Does he have another one? Already?”

“I don’t know.” I whined. “$20 if you go check.” Seeing she wasn’t eager to do so, I crept down the hall, chased him from the room and – standing on tiptoe – peered in the bathroom.

“Hello? Mouse? Are you in there?” Not receiving an answer, I was inspired. “Chienne! Come here, pretty girl!” She trotted down the hall, tags jingling happily, and looked at me.

“Can you go check the bathroom for ick?” I requested. She responded to my nudge and entered the room, returning after mere seconds.

“Did you find anything?” I asked, hearing Friend laughing down the hall.

I walked to Sprout’s room, saw him on the bed, and closed his door. “No more outside for you.” I proclaimed before returning to the living room to search for dog doors that would prohibit his leaving to hunt. I heard his little body thud against the wooden barrier as he started to speak indignantly against his unfair imprisonment.

“His ick is not only gone,” Friend stated with a sad shake of her head, “but you won’t let him find more?” Then she grinned at his howls of increasing volume.

“No more ick.” I said firmly, stopping to smile myself at his pleas for the freedom found only in the great outdoors.

I found this and will order one tomorrow – there appears to be some problem with the website thus far. Then, feeling sorry for the poor kitten (who is also a killer, apparently), I closed the dog door with its protective plastic covering and released him from his room. He blinked at me sleepily when I opened the door.

“He didn’t even care.” I informed Friend loftily. “He was napping.”

“I think he cares now.” She offered a moment later. I listened more closely to the thudding and talking from the kitchen.

“Is that him at the dog door?” I asked incredulous once again. Friend nodded.

I got up to see him exploring the strange covering with great anger. He meowed at me. “No.” I told him easily, then returned to the loveseat feeling satisfied with my plan. I had kissed Chienne on the head and told her to let me know if she needed out. But the cat is unhappily locked inside from now on.

He's napping on the ottoman as I type, but I'm quite sure he's plotting his next expedition. I only hope I'm smart enough to thwart it.