Home Alone: Day Four

This morning I came downstairs and sneezed. In dire need of a tissue, I headed straight for the downstairs bathroom. As I approached the doorway, I saw my cat's head popping up from inside the tub. He did that cat-thing where his eyes got really big and he slowly started sinking down below the edge. As I walked into the bathroom, I saw him furtively glance towards the other end of the tub.

There sat a mouse.

A live mouse.

After my screams had died away, I plucked the cat from the tub and shut the bathroom door. Mouse was alive and breathing heavily. The tub looked like a scene straight out of "Fight Club". I knew I had to get him out of there, but I was irrationally afraid that he'd be able to get out of the tub if I left the room. As though he perhaps hadn't considered that option during the five or six hours he fended off imminent death.

After trapping him between an Archaeology magazine and some Tupperware, I deposited him outside. Way at the other end of the yard. He took a few steps and then I swear it almost seemed as though he glanced up towards the heavens and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow before heading into the treeline.

I don't know how long the cat had him trapped inside the tub, but it seems to me that maybe the feline species isn't the only one who deserves more than one life.