All of our furry brats are mighty hunters, and insist on sharing their catches with Mom and Dad and brother Woofie Poodle, so we have frequently had to pick fur, feathers, and other inedible remains off the living room floor.

However, they don't always succeed:

One evening JohnLove hollered from the back bathroom and when I went to see what the problem was, I found our big tabby Lonnie Sue crouched at the base of the toilet with the most puzzled look on his furry face. John was nearly bent double laughing and could only point--into the toilet bowl, where a good-size mouse was furiously dog-paddling. When John could speak again, he told me that Lonnie had evidently been playing with the mouse, tossed it up in the air, and couldn't understand where Mr. Mouse disappeared to!

No, we didn't save the mouse...

And again, one evening recently I was sitting at the kitchen table reading when the Lons raced across the floor in hot pursuit of a tiny gray field mouse. As I started to retreat, the cat pounced, and headed for the back doggie door with only a skinny black tail protruding from his mouth. About half-way there, he changed his mind, came back, spit the mouse out, and whacked it with his paw. Before I could get out of my chair, the mouse ran hell bent for leather straight under the table and up my pant leg. I let out a blood-curdling screech, shook my foot like a maniac, and sent the mouse flying into the wall. Figuring he was in big trouble, Lonnie zoomed off into the other room, the mouse zipped off into his hidey-hole, and I went leaping gazelle-like into the bedroom. John said for a minute there it looked just like a Keystone Kops routine ...

The mouse escaped, but Lonnie Sue Cheney has enlisted Boris Bat Karloff and Bela Bruce Lugosi to help him stake out the kitchen. I keep finding all of them crouched in various places around the floor, staring at nothing the way cats do. I love the furry kids, but they're all weird.

Lin in Kansas