April 22, 2007

Our little kitty is worth her weight in Gold. Maybe more. She's awfully little.

But she's a mighty mouse hunter. She found and killed herself a teeny tiny mouse that had found it's way into our house, turning it into a squeakless toy. She was having so much fun batting the little dead thing around that I hated to take it away from her but, uh, ick. Game's over when the toy can decay and smell.

When I told Thor about it he seemed more upset that there was a mouse in the house than the fact that our new kitty proved to be quite valuable. He wants me to check for mouse droppings.

Like I'm going to be able to do that on either sides of the storage room downstairs. My side being full of unfinished kitchen stuff and his side being full of packratted goods. I'll let the kitty handle any future meeces. That basement is too big of a job to handle until I can get the kitchen stuff back into the kitchen and have some manuevering room. I'm not going to let one teeny tiny little mouse dictate how I spend my time.

The kitty was so proud of herself that she was a hyper little beast. Climbing into the ceiling space above my studio and the boy's rec room in the basement. At one point she fell from between two ducts and landed with a thud on a chair below. How convenient was that? She was covered with spider webs and very very happy. Hopping around like a kitten. (Analogy Failure yet again)

Special Shout Out to my friend, Sting. I'm still laughing about yesterday's conversation where you were wicked mean to me. You got Thor, too. Bitch. Thanks for the coffee.

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