With the cold keeping us inside, my husband and I have been making a monumental effort to change one of the spare rooms upstairs into a guest room. Years of putting things into “temporary storage” has left us with a monumental mass of clutter. Really, when the VCR DVD player quit, it should have gone out with the trash. What was I thinking … And why do we save books that we have no intention of reading … And if something is unusable, why do we save it just because Aunt Clara gave it to us ten years ago? Use it, pitch it, or pack it up for Goodwill, has become my motto. Unfortunately, our efforts have uncovered something most disturbing. Mouse droppings. I would shame the cats, but they are not allowed in the spare rooms. (Lest they get lost and never find their way back home.) This week they have been obliged to explore every nook, cranny, and box in search of hidden treasures. Fuzzy fabric, pieces of lace, discarded socks, and our fragile, little Jazzy found something even more exciting. A Mouse!!!
Out of our eight cats (Yes, I did say eight) Jazzy was the one we least expected to be a hunter. Born in a litter plagued by birth defects, Jazzy was the only survivor. Being severely anemic, his chances of survival were slim, yet at fourteen weeks old, he is bouncy, active, and still with us, and now he is a successful hunter. We are so proud of our baby!
I honestly don’t know what little Boots’ obsession is with the remote, but he is quite determined that this toy belongs to him.