Bathroom Drama

Blogging wasn’t on my agenda for Thursday, which turned into Friday about half an hour ago. It was another long day and by early evening by body—primarily injured leg and lower back—demanded an evening nap, if not retiring for the night.

While Tasha, my housekeeper, and I worked on household stuff this morning and afternoon, Alex had been hyper, dashing around and under our feet, demanding to go outside and five minutes later demanding to come back inside.

After Tasha left, I sat down at the computer to check email and, going off-line, began to do some financial stuff (which I loathe doing) using Quicken. A bit later, when I returned to the computer after grabbing a Pepsi from the frig, I found Alex had taken the opportunity to leap on my desk and catnap:

At least he wasn’t on the keyboard. He was directly under the high intensity light, which I assume is warmer than the computer, so I was able to complete reconciling my financial accounts. Then I took that evening nap that my body demanded.

I awakened about 10:00 p.m., fed the cat who owns me and then myself, and obeyed the Furball’s command to open the front door. This time he catted around outside much longer than he did earlier during the daylight. When he finally came home, I did the snuggle/pet/tickle routine on him and he retired to the kitchen while I gathered a towel and my robe and headed for the bathroom. As I passed the kitchen, Alex was in his hunting mode, crouched like a leopard about to spring and again staring at that space between the cabinet and the stove.

When I bathe I leave the bathroom door ajar because, sooner or later, Alex will begin scratching it and demand to come in. As I mentioned before, he often climbs on my chest while I relaxing in the tub, curls up, purrs, and falls asleep. With the door ajar he can push it open and come in on his own, ‘cause I am not going to get out of the tub to let the furball in.

About fifteen minutes after I began soaking, the bathroom door was flung open and Alex streaked in in his bat-out-of-hell manner. Glancing from my reclined position in the tub, I briefly caught sight of a small, dark colored critter running in its bat-out-of-hell mode just a bit ahead of my furball.

I had difficulty watching the drama that ensued because the shower curtain partially blocked my view. At one point I saw the tiny mouse dash toward the door and Alex leaping to cut it off from the exit. The mouse did a 180 degree turn and ran under the table that I keep beside the tub and I lost sight of it. Evidently Alex did, too, because he began clawing at the shower curtain. I eyeballed him the best I could and I think at one point I saw the mouse in Alex’s open mouth.

That’s when I decided to get out of the tub. I expected to see another mouse carcass on the bathroom floor, but found none. Nor did I see any signs on Alex’s face or fur that he had just consumed the rodent. Then I noticed that Alex was still searching the bathroom:

WHERE DID THAT DAMNED MOUSEY GO?

Evidently, the mouse again escaped. At least I hope so. I’m not one to be turned on by hunting for sport by humans or felines.

At the moment Alex is again in the kitchen in his hunting mode, crouched like a leopard about to spring and again staring at that space between the cabinet and the stove.

I am going to bed!