So we woke late last night to the sound of Madame Harriet, one of our #cat overlords here at our current #UK housesit, making kind of noise that any cat person will immediately recognise as "I am walking through the house with a present for you. Get ready for entrails. Yay entrails!"
We promptly turned on the light to see her sitting on the end of our bed with one of my socks in her mouth. She was proudly declaring she'd killed it for us.
The sock looked decidedly dead. If it could have entrails, they would have been on show. She obviously understood how to murder a sock with both skill and panache.
We thanked her for her services to the Society for Making Sure There Is Only Ever One Sock In Any Pair Left After A Week and went back to sleep.
Some time later, I woke to the feeling of something running up my leg. It was small, scratchy and definitely not my imagination.
On reflex, I whipped off the duvet and froze when I saw a very alive mouse hunched down against my knee.
Swearing, meowing, bellowing and roaring ensued but I can safely report that mouse, humans and cat are all still living, with mouse relocated to garden. No sign of entrails at all.
Meanwhile Madame Harriet kept my sock in her mouth the entire time, obviously not wanting anything to do with a ghastly mouse when she had her trophy sock to hand.
I now need a nap. A long, mouse free nap. Meanwhile Madame Harriet hasn't stopped napping all day.
