I flipped on my maglight, and sure enough, the three cats had a bench chest surrounded. Apparently one of God's little woodland creatures decided to come in for a visit. I turned on the overhead light, moved the bench, and out ran the mouse -- right under the bed. All three cats darted after it, and I heard various rattling and scuffling sounds from the boxes and stuff we have stashed under there. I got on my hands and knees, shined the light under, and began giving orders to the hunter-killer team: "It's behind you! There, between those boxes! Getitgetigetitkillkillkill! Quit carrying it around, just kill the little rodent!"
Unfortunately the house cats do not seem to understand the "killer" part of "hunter-killer;" when one of them would catch it, he'd run away from the other cats, drop it, and watch until it ran off again. Not really team players either; the littlest tom actually growled at the others to stay away whenever he caught the mouse. This went on for about 10 minutes, with the mouse running all around the room, until finally it was cornered in a crevice where I had put up some drywall but hadn't put the baseboard molding down yet. The cats couldn't seem to snag it with their claws, so I was forced to fix bayonets and charge in myself. Well, OK, actually I just got this old fork we use for a "tool," speared the little rascal, and dragged him out. Naturally the cats wanted to horn in on my prize, but I managed to toss it out the back door without losing any cats in the process. Now of course I am wide awake, well before I intended.
And thank God the wife is visiting her sister tonight, she absolutely freaks about mice. This happened one other time a couple years ago, only for some reason she was already up at four in the morning, in the living room, and woke me up with a blood-curdling shriek. Same scenario -- I came charging out of the bedroom with my pistol, in my tactical underwear, and the cats were playing catch-and-release with a mouse. Wife was standing on the couch yelling at all of us to do something.
I've got to talk to the cats about this "killer instinct" business. They're pampered housecats, not barn-raised mousers.
Is there a Gabe Suarez-type trainer for cats?
from my outside cat, I'm pretty sure I don't want that in my house.
I suspect they would have eventually killed this one, perhaps just by running it to death, but I wasn't going to listen to all the ruckus and growling under the bed for the rest of the night...