OK, so here’s what’s happening:
We hear noises, and it sounds like a mouse, but I don’t want it to be a mouse. I want it to be the fridge, even though that would be much more expensive. Actually, it sounds like a mouse that has gained the ability to use tiny tools, like a saw or nail gun.
So the cat comes in, which is very good of him. It’s late, and he has a busy Monday lined up. But he hears the sound too, and knows it’s a mouse. I trust him with these things. So, there must be a mouse under or in the center cupboard where we store cooking implements (note: rinse the frying pan before use).
The cat (Whoopie, a name that strikes fear in the local rodents by the way) camps out near the furniture. He’s a great hunter, but I can’t help thinking I can be of assistance. My contribution? The cheese. I saw it work in a movie once.
I say to the cat, “The cheese is for the mouse. I’ll put it here, and when the mouse comes for the cheese…BAM! you hit him on the head.”
I know he won’t hit the mouse on the head, but I thought that sounded better.
The stakeout begins. I’m off to bed.
(Yeah, catblogging. One way to get unstuck)