Pierre grubbing on kitty chow.

Several days ago, I heard meowing coming from my backyard. My first thought was that one of the cats had gotten out and was crying for it’s mama (me). I went and looked, but no, it was a beefy grey cat. Yay! I’ve been wanting a yard cat for a while now. Why, you might wonder? Yard cats serve one main purpose (besides being awesome) they chase mice, rats, and voles away. Funny, we have all of those things.

Living in the forest, as we do, our yard is the perfect breeding ground for pests of all kinds. Over the last year, we’ve had issues with mice in the walls and attic. Matilda was good enough to kill one that set foot inside. We’d called an exterminator over the Summer; they set traps for a month, caught one, and were gone. Ever since then, we still hear the faint scratching of tiny claws in the walls. We recently found mouse poop in the TV room – which subsequently caused me to go on a cleaning frenzy. It wasn’t until one DIED somewhere in the walls (causing a horrific smell which overcomes the North side of the house) that we’ve gotten serious. AJB has stepped into his manly role as man of the house, setting traps, and disposing of (so far) one jumbo sized sewer rat. I love him so hard for that. However, I want nothing to do with it. I don’t even want to see the traps. The whole things grosses me out. I hate killing them, even though I know it has to be done. You really can’t trap and release them into the wild. Turns out, it’s illegal. So die they must, as sad as that is. I’ve come to accept that the health of my family and I is more important than “live and let live”.

Which leads me into the yard cat; the most eco-friendly way to deter rats in our immediate surroundings. In particular, our beefy little fellow, who I have named Pierre. I mean, seriously, you have to see the muscles on this cat; very impressive. Pierre started coming by a few days ago. Meowing and grubbing on any food I’d give him. He’s very sweet and let’s me pet him profusely. He also has a pair of fairly large testicles to further validate his machismo. He’s tough, but he’s also an adorable pussycat.

So now I’ve got this buff male cat prowling around my yard. It didn’t really occur to me that the indoor cats would be affected very much. Sure, they might get annoyed, but they’d quickly realize he’s out there and they’re in here. After all, we have critters coming up to the house all the time. Turns out, I should have worried a bit more. Pierre has set off Eva in a way I’ve never seen – except in those “when animals attack” shows. Whenever he’s around she hisses, spits, and yowls this unholy siren which escalates to violence aimed at whatever (or whomever) is nearest. She’s attacked both Matilda and Oatmeal and even blitzed the window screen. I mean, she’s really upset.

Eva, new to our home, has had a hard time acclimating to her new surroundings. She feels abandoned by her previous owner, scared of the world, is attempting to gain dominance, and has a tendency to lash out; even though she’s also very pleasant. This is a whole new world for her and she’s doing what cats do; reacting the only way she knows how. Except, we can’t tolerate violence. We’re working with her to keep her calm, show her we love her, but also make her aware that her actions are not acceptable. It’s going to take a long time. Cats don’t like change. In fact, they fight it.

Eva’s bad mood causes the other cats, who are happy to ignore Pierre, to become tense. We end up spending a good deal of time reassuring everyone that everything is fine. As for Pierre, he wants in the house. He sits at the back door meowing this pathetic little orphan meow, hoping I’ll open the door. I admit, I’m tempted because it’s Winter. I know, however, that he just can’t come in. I made him a bed and shelter; although I believe he’s sleeping under my car. I’m putting food and water out for him. I hope he’ll figure out that my old Nightmare Before Christmas throw is warm and comfy; the plastic bin will provide a better shelter. If he sticks around, I might invest in cat igloo.

I like that he comes by. He’s very agreeable, isn’t at all bothered by the indoor cats, and rather mellow. He’s taken to me and I’ve taken to him. He’s come to me for help and I’m going to give it to him. It’s what I do. JCS suggests that Pierre is more like The Tramp from “Lady and The Tramp”. On Tuesdays he’s Pierre at my house. On Wednesdays he’s Tony at the neighbor’s house. On Thursday, he’s Mittens down the street. Who knows? He came here for a reason and I won’t turn him away. There is a way to get all the cats to live harmoniously. I just have to find it. Meanwhile, more research and lots of and lots of belly rubs.

Merry Christmas.

We’ve had issues with mice in the walls and attic. You may recall my heartfelt letter to the rat family we would be annihilating. Since then, we occasionally hear scratching in the walls, but haven’t gotten around to the second onslaught. In September, my littlest baby, Matilda, caught and killed one that dared enter our domain.

Then there was the random slaying of a small bird which was subsequently left under our bed as a gift. We were in Illinois for Thanksgiving and came home to tails of our cleaning lady’s discovery. We’re not sure how it got in the house and we’re unable to determine who the did the killing and presentation. My best guess is Matilda. She’s already got one live-kill under her belt and she’s the kind of crazy cat that would leave us dead animals, she seems the likely choice.

“Something dead”, you see, is not a far stretch. We live in a rather rural, tree-filled area of Pasadena and this sort of thing has become commonplace for us. I don’t like it very much, but this is where we live. There are rats and possum and stray cats and deer and coyote and squirrels and raccoons…oh my.

When the exterminators came the last time, they sealed up the walls pretty good. I realized this wouldn’t be enough to keep them out. If mice and rats want to come in, they will. Turns out, rats can squeeze through a hole no bigger than the size of a quarter. Awesome. Sealed out and caught never meant that the “smart” rats wouldn’t remain in the attic happily living off…whatever they find up there. Most likely practicing cannibalism and strange rituals. This also never meant they couldn’t figure out new and exciting ways to get into the house. I figure they’re getting in through the outside basement and climbing up the walls. This also means, you can’t ever totally get rid of them. Not fully. A constant battle for years on end.

At first I thought the horrible smell coming from the bathroom was a backed up toilet. Living in an old house, that kind of stuff seems to happen all the time. I filled the toilet with enzymes to clear any potential blockage. I closed the door. Later that night, I showed AJB the smell and was nearly knocked on my ass from the sheer potency of it; it had been closed off in a small room for hours. I couldn’t stand it! It was the most horrible smell I’d ever smelled. It was awful. I almost barfed! I also couldn’t get the smell out of my brain. Ick, ick, ick!!!!! Hands down, worst smell I’ve ever encountered…in my life.

AJB confirmed my worst fear that some mystery animal had died somewhere, most likely in the walls or attic. OK, now what? I called the Humane Society for advice. They referred me to the “under the house guy”, the guy that’s crazy enough to go into your attic or under your house to retrieve animal corpses. Turns out, the “under the house guy” is indeed a bit crazy. The next day, he talked my ears off about what he does, how he does it, how much it costs (although we never got a straight answer), and how he might have to use a *saw-zaw to cut through the walls – something he didn’t want to do. He repeated himself several times, never let me talk, and interrupted me when I tried. I told him I had to talk to my husband; a woman’s most helpful tactic when dealing with contractors and work people. When he called later, I let AJB handle it so he could understand my colorful description of the guy. This guy was nuts, but we hired him anyway.

He showed up, a little guy with a Tom Hattan beanie. He went up in the attic, looked around and determined it was in the walls. All he could do was spray high powered deodorizer. We would have to wait until the smell dissipated on it’s own. In Winter, that could take a month or so. The animal would turn to dust and bones, forever trapped in our walls. Which made me wonder: How many other corpses are lodged between the walls of our 100 year old home? Probably dozens.

Until the smell goes away, that bathroom is closed for business. We’ve left the window open hoping the rain doesn’t get in and mold the place up. As an added bonus, my allergies have been off the hook for days. I suspect it’s a dead animal allergy.

Sometimes owning a house isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

*He actually meant Sawzall, but pronounced it “Saw-Zaw”.

You'd never guess she was a fearless mouse killer.

Last night as I lay sleeping, I hear the familiar cat cry of, “Mommy, I’m stuck somewhere, come get me out” from Matilda – which is generally a meek sounding mew that is more akin to a whimper. Or at least that’s what I thought I heard.

Sometimes the cats just mew because they’re looking for us. I called to her and she didn’t come. I kept calling and she didn’t come. I got up to look for her because I figured she must have (somehow) gotten into my closet and was now trapped. As I passed the bathroom, I hear the tiniest meow from the darkness. I look in, surprised to just see her sitting her, a toy mouse at her feet. Oh, she’d just been playing and was getting a little excited…at 3′oclock in the morning. No, wait, what? No. What’s that? ACK! Fake mouse, no. Real mouse, yes. *Dead as a door nail.

According to AJB’s recounting, I made barfy/blurgle sounds and called him up. I don’t think I did…make the blurgle sounds. I did call him up. I had to leave the room. I tweeted, “Holy crap! Matilda just killed a MOUSE in the bathroom!!! Matilda trumps your cat. Bonus: We now apparently have mice in the house.” AJB started to scold Matilda, but I shouted back that he should praise her. After all, it’s what we want them to do, right? We have mice? Cats are the cheap, eco-friendly way to get rid of them. I’m surprised, in fact. I’ve always wondered what the cats would do it a mouse got in the house. Would they play with them? Eat them? Ignore them? Well, tonight we found out.

Gross as it was, I really was proud of Matilda. I mean, it’s her first real kill. Being a vegetarian, you’d think I’d be sad about the mouse. I kind of am, but actually, I’m happier she got it before it chewed through my cheeks. Besides, hunting is natural for cats and far be it from me to take that away from her. And the truth is, mice are vermin and they carry diseases. As cute as they are, they don’t belong in the house and we can’t allow them to be. You HAVE to get rid of them and Matilda just saved us several hundred dollars in exterminator fees. Good girl!

After her kill, she roamed the house on patrol, sniffing in corners, checking behind furniture, looking for another one. She momentarily became sidetracked with a fake toy mouse, but quickly realized the live ones are better. Problem with the live ones, they stop moving after a while. I mean, come on, you bite them a few times and they go limp. What’s the deal? Anthropomorphizing my cats, as I do, I can only imagine that Matilda must have been so excited when she discovered the mouse. It’s like the fake ones, but it moves on it’s own!! OMG!! Finally! My years of training have all lead up to this moment!

A bit later, I gave Matilda a spoonful of tuna as a heroe’s treat. The other cats joined in the celebration too. It was indeed a red letter day. After that, I cleaned the kitchen REAL GOOD. Now that mice have found their way into the house, it’s imperative that we keep the house clean, don’t leave food out, and keep an eye on the cat food. I mean, we do a pretty good job already, but now it’s go-time.

Before we drifted off to sleep, AJB said that I was a good mommy because I praised the kitties…even when it’s horrifying. lol. I suppose so. Naturally, I cannot go without praising my man for scooping up the corpse and taking it out of the house. He also cleaned up a small pool of blood. I couldn’t have done it. I probably would have screamed, called my brother, and when he refused to come over, I would have slept in the car. Not sure how the next morning would play out. I am, sadly, overcome with girlie fears when it comes to dead animals or flying bugs. I become utterly useless. Aside from all the usual benefits of having AJB and the cats around, they also do the dirty work. I love them for that.

*Quite on accident, I discovered this phrase originates from Shakespeare. It’s fascinating that we still use phrases that were coined 400 years ago. Neat.