Every winter, the mice come in from the cold. Usually they hang out near the kitchen until I trap them, but sometimes they wander into other parts of the house.

One evening I'm sprawled on the couch watching TV, when suddenly I hear a frantic "Wheek! Wheek!" I'm a veteran cat owner, I know exactly what that sound means: one of the cats has caught a mouse.

I say "one of the cats," but in fact I know which cat, without looking -- it's "the Little One," Panda. The "Big One," Chula, typically sits back and lets the Little One do the dirty deed while he watches intently.

But tonight they're both in on the act. They are passing the mouse back and forth like a soccer ball. It's still full of life and keeps eluding them, but I know it's doomed -- it's already been in the Little One's mouth at least twice.

So after a minute, I resolve to take the mouse away from them. This is not mercy -- I know Squeaky is already destined for the Great Cheese Barrel in the Sky. But I also know the cats will eventually get bored with it and let it go, and the poor mangled little thing will crawl away under the couch or into the wall before it croaks, and in a few days the house will be redolent that distinctive but elusive odor of decomposing rodent. So, I'm determined to catch it before that happens, and toss it out into the cold and rain where it belongs. (The beauty of this system is also that I no longer have to watch it suffer. Out of sight, out of mind.....)

The Big One's favorite (and perhaps only) technique for trapping a mouse is to sit down on it (presumably hoping to squash it to death). So when he executes this manuever, I figure it's the perfect time for me to step in. I reach under Chula ... and pow!, the mouse shoots forward like it was rocket-propelled and dashes between my feet. One human and two cats leap straight up into the air, all bleating in terror. The mouse scoots into the hall, and now there are three of us in pursuit; Panda first, me second, and Chula bringing up the rear, like the chubby kid in The Goonies.

Then the worst happens: the mouse scurries towards my bedroom. There are exactly one thousand three hundred and forty-two places for a mouse to hide in my bedroom. If I was motivated before, I'm positively maniacal now. With a strangled shriek, I leap over Panda, grab the door knob and slam the door shut. The mouse, thwarted, bolts back into the hall, and runs headlong into Chula, who sits down, but misses. Panda leaps straight over him, and lands on the mouse. After a little tussle, I finally get it away from her, and out it goes (into the cold and the rain).

Moral: Cats are pests.

Next: That was the week that was from hell...

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