Remember when 3:00 am referred to the time you rolled in after clubbing? When you climbed into your bedroom window after ice blocking? When you realized you folks were going to totally bust you for being out so late?
My 3am was strange. Not in the traditional sense, but it did set me to giggling uncontrollably for about a half hour. Daisy (the cat of weird likes) brought in a mouse. Alive. Into my bedroom. Ron managed to chase her to the kitchen, while I went behind them closing all doors. I locked myself in the bedroom, and listened to the chair shuffling, the swearing, and the dog on the wood floors, sounding like a giraffe on roller skates. About 20 minutes later, Ron returns, grumbling and swearing about the cat, and the damned dog, standing between him and that damned mouse. Just the image of an off balance dog cornering a mouse, with Ron looming overhead in his undies started my giggles. It was quite a visual!
That's when I realized that Ron didn't even get dressed to take the mouse outside. I bet the juvenile delinquents that populate my neighborhood got quite the eyeful!
Just yesterday morning at 1:20am, the cat brought in another mouse, this one was dead though, and partially disemboweled. So while higher on the grossness scale, way lower on the exercise scale. That one went out straight away, leaving her meowing at it's empty space on the floor.
I'm okay with her killing, eviscerating, and even eating mice. I just don't want them in my house. Ever.