We have a cat. His name is Sneakers. My then seven year-old
son named him Sneakers because he has white 'stocking' markings on his legs. Because my son is an aspiring athlete
he saw the markings as high-top sneakers instead of stockings. Good thing, because I would not live in the same house
as a cat named stockings, especially because the cat himself is male.
Sneakers
is two-years old in real years, or I suppose a teenager in cat years. He is playful, frisky and adventurous. He
loves to be outside, even in the winter snow. In fact, I think he must be part lynx because he loves to bound through
deep snow.
Sneakers is also a hunter.
This spring and summer he caught no less than six birds. But it has been a few months since his last kill. Until
last night, that is. I walked out the garage door to get the mail, which for some reason I forgot to get during the
day. As I walked down the driveway I saw sneakers batting some small, brown object around with his paw. Upon closer
examination, I noticed the brown object moving on its own. Yes, it was a mouse.
The mouse was small. I don;t know if it
was a young mouse or just a small mouse. I am not sure where it came from, as we've had deep snow on the ground
for nearly a week. But somehow it made its way onto our driveway, where Sneakers was pleased to find a new toy.
By the time I went in and retrieved my camera
the mouse had taken a bit of a beating. He was beyond trying to run away. He looked cold and scared. I couldn't
see any obvious injuries, I didn't see any blood. But I could tell this mouse was not in good shape.
Sneakers toyed with the mouse for some time.
He would smack it around with a paw, then walk away. He'd wait until the mouse began to move, then pounce again.
The mouse would cower, go limp, and Sneakers would lose interest.
Finally Sneakers grew bored with the game.
Maybe he was tired, maybe he was getting cold and just wanted to come in. Maybe he was hungry. In any event, he
made one final pounce, and that was the end of this game of Cat and Mouse.
