Because nothing says 'Christmas is just around the corner' like photos of dead mice, and because you're all a bunch of twisted weirdoes who get off on that kind of thing, I present to you the state of our back porch at the moment.
Ah Grendel, she looks like butter wouldn't melt (though why one would want to use a cat for melting butter is beyond me - a warmed saucepan or a swift blast in the microwave will leave your butter all soft and melty; sticking it in a cat will only make it hairy. And the cat's likely to eat it as well, because they're devious that way. In fact, never trust a cat offering to do anything with your dairy products, they can't be trusted!) but to the rodent population of Casa MacBride's surrounding environs she's the devil incarnate.
This happy little fellow looks so peaceful, lying there with the back of his head chewed off - not a trouble in the world. He looks a little flatter than he probably did in life, because I stepped on him. Not on purpose - I was only heading out to put something in the bin when all of a sudden... 'CRUNCH' and a strange, cold, sticky feeling between my toes. Mmm, mouse slippers.
And let's face it, it's a miracle she's catching anything at all at the moment. She's got a streaming cold. I've never seen a cat with a drippy nose before. It's like a little Niagara falls of feline bogies. She fell asleep on me while I was editing this afternoon, and left a big wet patch of snot on my sleeve. Lovely.
She looks at me funny when I stick a hanky under her nose and tell her to blow too.
Labels: Cat, Dead Things, Grendel