Mom was cleaning the barn the other morning (number of times I’ve used that phrase in a blog post: 4), and the kitties were gallivanting about, engaged in the usual cat pursuits. You know, running back and forth in the barn erratically, crawling around under the hay bales, doing backflips in the driveway for no particular reason, getting up in the rafters, and so on. She’d filled up her tub and was on her way to dump it in the wagon, when Whisper brought her his very first ‘offering’.

Proudly, he dragged it to the back of the barn and dropped it at her feet. When Mom reacted, “Oh Whisper! Oh no! Just…no!” he blinked in surprise. He begged to differ. Dead mice were sort of his thing, after all. “But Whisper,” Mom argued, “You’re supposed to kill them, not bring me the ones Honey has killed.” Gingerly, she retrieved the mouse trap and its long dead occupant, as Whisper sauntered off. He’d dragged the trap all the way from the garage (Dad doesn’t set traps in the barn any more, worried about tender feline noses) and he was pretty sure it was a job well done. A dead mouse is a dead mouse, after all, never mind who killed it.  🙂