Rats!
Or should I say "Mice!"? As I write this, my little black kitty Keats is tormenting a young, gray rodent under the buffet in my dining room. I suspected he had found some new prey when I heard him rambunctiously scampering around, his license clinkety-clinking.

The last I checked, he had the mouse cornered in a coiled piece of extension cord on the floor. The mouse would peep up his tiny, gray head every once in a while, only to receive a sound swat from Keats. While I don't relish the thought of the dirty rodent skittering across any part of my person, it is awfully cute and deserves to have a more humane death. Perhaps we should buy some traps. Quick and no torture.

I just hope I don't wake up to find a dead mouse on the threshold of our bedroom. Earlier this week that's where Keats left a pocket pack of Kleenex that he "killed" for us. Weird cat.