Peevish Pen

Ruminations on reading, writing, rural living, retirement, aging—and sometimes cats. And maybe a border collie or other critters.

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Location: Rural Virginia, United States

I'm an elderly retired teacher who writes. Among my books are Ferradiddledumday (Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story), Stuck (middle grade paranormal novel), Patches on the Same Quilt (novel set in Franklin County, VA), Them That Go (an Appalachian novel), Miracle of the Concrete Jesus & Other Stories, and several Kindle ebooks.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Mouse practice

Yesterday morning the scatter rug in front of the fireplace was balled up and a toy mouse lay nearby. The toy mouse, now officially Maggie’s since the housecats lost interest, had been in one of Maggie’s baskets of toys. Maggie had slept in the kennel with the other dogs the previous night, so I know she didn’t drag it out. But who?

And then the culprit returned to the scene of the rumpled rug. Foxy, the senior cat—the one least expected to play, was playing with the mouse—tossing and pouncing.

Foxy, a serious and hardworking cat, normally works the area around the tack room and shop. She goes out early, patrols, returns to the house for breakfast (unless she’s caught her own), and patrols again. She used to work until dark. Since coyotes moved into the neighborhood, the working cats—Foxy, Buford, and Camilla—now come in a couple of hours earlier than they used to. But the recent cold weather has kept all three in the house during the daytime.

Later, Foxy went into the garage where I saw her herding a live mouse. I guess the toy mouse was just practice to help keep her in shape.


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