Doomsday

This morning as I was sitting in the chair by the woodstove with Charlie, letting him (and me) wake up a little more before facing the preparation of breakfast, I caught sight of Belle the Devil Cat slinking around the dining room. I just had time to think, "It looks like there's something in her mouth," when she flung her head and a dead mouse soared in a graceful arc halfway across the dining room and landed next to the woodstove.

The best part of waking up is a dead rodent at your feet.

But it doesn't end there! Oh no!

This evening after Charlie was in bed, the rest of us were once again all in the dining room--because of the woodstove, which is the only heat we have going at the moment--when we heard a thump and a squeak from the kitchen. Cubby, ever alert, demanded to know what that noise was. His query was answered visually by Belle running into the dining room with another mouse in her mouth.

She retired with it under one of the chairs, where it lay pathetically and she stared fixedly at it. Cubby also stared fixedly at it. He is not, as you may remember from the bunny episode, a squeamish child.

I managed to tear him away from the riveting scene to pick up his toys in the other room in preparation for bed, but only by promising he could look at the mouse again when he was done picking up. He was duly rewarded for his diligence by another look at the grisly tableau, and then we went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Upon exiting the bathroom, he requested that he be allowed to pay his last respects to the mouse before bed.

Except it had disappeared.

DAMMIT.

As I write this, Belle is stalking around the living room, presumably in pursuit of the injured mouse. It will probably hide in there somewhere, no doubt expiring in its hiding place, only to be discovered by Charlie or Cubby who will probably do something horrifyingly disgusting with it.

Because this, my lovelies, is Blackrock, and this is just the way we live.

Gross.

Update: Just when you thought it couldn't get grosser . . . I heard a squeak from the living room, so I went in there to see if I could take the damned mouse away from Belle and make sure it wasn't lurking in the house anymore. It was hiding in a cardboard box on the floor. I caught a glimpse of it before it scuttled farther into the box. A. came into the living room, I informed him of the mouse's whereabouts, and he promptly stomped heavily on the box with his booted foot and then dumped the finally-dead mouse in the trash. Well. That takes care of that.