Okay. It was Friday morning. I did my usual thigh nibble to wake mom up at 5:43 am. She got up, used the people litter box, fed us, and went back to bed so she could wait for the 6:30 alarm.
About fifteen minutes later, she awakened to the sound of a cat pawing the mattress. She opened one eye and saw it was Jaycee, at her feet. Mom reached down, fearing Jaycee had peed on the bed and was trying to cover it up. She didn't find any pee but her hand touched something small, furry, and warm.
Yep, it was a mouse. It looked just like this, except it was kinda, uh, dead. Freshly dead, so it would taste really really good:
Mom yelled to Dad to wake up and take care of it. Dad rolled over, pulled the covers over his head, and mumbled something about "you were the one that let the cats sleep in the bedroom" and left it for Mom to deal with.
Now, Mom's not scared of mice or anything so she didn't have a problem with picking it up; she wanted Dad to take care of it because she wanted JUST 45 MORE MINUTES OF SLEEP!
After a few minutes of listening to Dad's snores, Mom picked up the mouse and confirmed that it was, indeed, dead. Jaycee sniffed it and looked very unhappy because she knew, from past experiences, she was going to lose her furry toy.
Mom threw the mouse away and decided to forgo her last ninteen minutes of sleep.
I can tell you're totally jealous because you don't live in a 111 year old house where mice wander in for playtime.
I laid on Dad's dresser throughout this early morning drama. I had nothing to do with any of it. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.