Old cat, old tricks

The mouse in the apartment is still at large. Have I mentioned this before? I think I have. Yeah. Mouse in the house. Little bugger made its first appearance while Smokey was recovering from his oral surgery. Ever since I've seen it here or there. I chased it down the hall once. It took a hard left, fell over on its side, legs flailing in the air, and still managed to right itself and scurry off behind the stove.

And where was Smokey? Laying on a pile of the Dude's clothes on the bed. Relaxing.

So yesterday I'm on the couch and out of the corner of my eye I keep seeing movement. And then finally I see it, the mouse. It's under the coffee table and I lunge at it, and predictably it dove back under the couch.

I had given up on Smokey mouse hunting. He's 17 and half-toothless and I'm pretty sure his hearing is going. The Dude brought him into the living room anyway, just to see if the presence of a cat would mean anything to this mouse. Smokey sauntered onto my lap and curled up and got cozy. I remarked that my cat had become only a pet and not a mouse solution.

But then he lept very deftly from my lap and pounced in front of the couch. He then skulked around, maneuvering skillfully and with purpose. He attempted several tactics to try and get the mouse to come out. Years fell away from his face and body. Smokey meant business. It was awesome. I felt so proud of him. Funny isn't it? Proud of a cat for being a cat?

Well, I was. Just when I'd figured he was old and retired from life, he surprised me. How I love that cat.