Is This You? Rooting for the Mouse

Yesterday, I was out grabbing some sunshine and watching the world go by off my deck.

It’s a wonderful home here at Casa Trina. There is always a show going on in the backyard, no matter the season. Right now, it is the beginning of winter, and we have yet to have measurable snow.

But! Yes, a pre-snow-covered “but.” I say that so you know that as I watched some of my barn cats out in the field mousing, I could see the entire show. All I needed was popcorn.

Let me set the scene.

Outside, there are a multitude of cats that I use as my guard against mice coming into my house. The cats are well-fed, and at this time of the year, they are very fat and furry for winter. Varied colors and friendly—because I have food. I hold no expectations that they like me because of who I am. I am the Hooman that feeds them. We have that in common.

My backyard is a good size, separated from the hayfield by a five-wire barbed wire fence. The cats come and go, hunting and playing. That is where three of them were yesterday, about ten feet out from the fence. They were sitting in a circle. They had encircled a mouse hole, waiting for the little gray matter to pop its head up.

Can you imagine that?

You are all snug in your underground house. You wake up and want to see what the weather is doing outside. You stumble to the opening and scratch yourself up to get some fresh air. You pop your head up and—Holy Moses!—there you see three HUGE cats. Licking their lips quietly and with purpose. Now there’s a visual!

So that is just what happened.

This teeny mouse made the fateful mistake of coming up for air. Bang! Caught and pulled out of the hole, then thrown in the air about two feet by Charlie-Charlie, a gray boy. As it came down, a second cat, Weepy, a yellow tabby, grabbed at it, and the party was on.

Third in line was Bump, a gray-striped fellow who just loves to bump my legs as I try to walk across the deck.

Yes, I live in a zoo I have created.

If you have never seen this type of hunting action, let me tell you—it’s the circle of life. I don’t apologize for the cats, nor was I rooting for them.

I was rooting for the mouse.

I always root for the underdog—uh, under-mouse. I have been the underdog many times in life, so I knew the mouse needed a rooting section. I don’t, though, step into the fray. Again, it is the circle of life.

Once, several years ago, one of my favorite cats caught and was bringing me a live wild parakeet. Beautiful little yellow and orange birds that come here every year and tweet happily in the trees. I saw him coming toward me with this fluttering little bird in his mouth, proud and meowing with his mouth full.

Well, knowing no better, I ran out and grabbed him by the nape of the neck and told him to spit it out.

No. No. No, I was saying.

I finally got the twitter bird free, and it flew away. But I will never forget the look that cat gave me. He was so confused as to why I wasn’t proud of his catch that he was bringing to show me.

It was soul-crushing.

From that day, I have never stepped in to change the outcome of the circle of life.

It’s going to be what it’s meant to be.

So, the mouse was brought onto the grass by Charlie-Charlie and spit out. The little thing stood up on its back legs and was chittering all sorts of what I can only guess were expletive mouse-cat words.

The cats took turns batting it around and throwing it in the air as it ran from grass tuft to grass tuft.

Soon, I could see the end was near, and I walked away. Some things I can do without. The cats were doing their job, the mouse was breakfast, and I was just an observer.

Oh, don’t think that sometimes the mouse doesn’t win. Sometimes, they do. They zip under a stump or come upon a hidey-hole.

The patience of the cat is amazing. The hawks, too, have that instinct.

They fly around, and suddenly, you can tell they have spotted a snack. They flip around midair. Soon, with heads down, they dive to the ground, pulling up just at the right time—picking up a snack like me going through the drive-thru and grabbing a burger and fries.

Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at [email protected]

Really!