7:50 a.m. – I’m awake but still sleepy. I hear an unusual noise, a loud “thunk.” Definitely not the sound of the cats nibbling at the food in their dish, the typical sounds at this time in the morning.

Reminding myself of the two morning appointments, and the need to be presentable, I roll out of bed. Fitzy is around, seeming a little skittish. I head towards the bathroom to put my contacts in. As I approach, I see a blurry Ella, clearing sitting in front of the sink. As I look closer, squinting, of course, without my glasses, I see something in front of her, big enough for me to see it without my glasses. It has the shape of a mouse. I scream, turn around and head back to the bedroom, where I now understand why Fitzy Boy seemed skittish.

7:55 a.m. – After 5 minutes of shrieking, wondering if the mouse is still alive, worrying about where it might go, what it might do, I text my friend who is not local but who I know would understand. The message reads: “OMG, one of the cats is playing with something that looks like a dead or half dead mouse. I can’t see / my glasses are in the bathroom and the cat and semi-dead thing are in the doorway, OMG, OMG”

Her response is a satisfying, “Holy shit. Shit shit”

8:00 a.m. – I head back toward the bathroom, walking slowly and cautiously. The cat is no longer there, neither is the dead or half-dead thing. Proceeding into the bathroom, I put my contacts in and feel somewhat better, knowing I will not accidentally step on a dead or half-dead mouse. I proceed with my morning routine, until I hear another “thunk.” I see Fitz coming out of the bedroom, looking down the stairs. I come outside and peak around the corner to see an apparently-dead mouse on the landing 5 stairs down. It looks dead; I am hopeful. A dead mouse is still a problem but not as much as a half-dead one.

8:15 a.m. After some more shrieking, a little cursing, remembering my “busy” morning, I text my newly-discovered, living-nearby handyman. This text reads “Emergency can you help? Dead mouse removal”

He replies quickly, “Yep, I have a doctor’s appointment at 9:15 so I’ll be there after.”

Feeling relieved but still traumatized, I continue getting ready. Ella appears again outside the bathroom door, dropping the mouse on the floor. I back up against the shower wall, as far away from Ella and the mouse as possible while still able to watch. Ella sits proudly, watching her prize. Fitz checks it out from time to time, Strong and independent though I am, I continue to shriek like the girliest-girl as I watch Ella play with this big, chunky mouse, flipping it about with abandon. I video and shriek, and beg Ella to stop playing with it to no avail

I text my two sisters and niece via our “Catty Club” text thread. They think it’s too big to be a mouse, they think it’s a rat or at very least a mouse on steroids. I insist it’s a mouse, a large one, yes, but not a rat.

For the second time this morning, I think of selling the house.

Graphic Violence Warning: Animal on animal violence. No animals were harmed in the filming of this video as they were already dead.

Now in the living room, Ella keeps playing with the disgusting thing. She sits on it, she tosses it around, she bites at it, gross. I see a splotch of blood right next to where Ella has the mouse, gross again!

In this video, I share my theory of how the death occurred. Ella seems offended; doesn’t appreciate my innuendo.

It’s almost time to leave w/ Fitz for his vet appointment. Concerned about Ella taking a bite out of that mouse while I’m gone, I cover it with the lid from a nearby box.

8:35 a.m. – It’s immediately obvious that the lid won’t be enough. I place the full box on top of the lid which is covering the mouse. I hope the box won’t collapse the lid onto the mouse. I hope the entire contraption is Ella-proof.

9:00 a.m. – The vet and her assistant empathize about my reaction to the incident. They look at the pictures and confirm its not a rat, just a large mouse. They die of laughter at the video of Ella on the stairs, deciding the mouse died from blunt force trauma after being tossed about by Ella. Seems like a viable option to me.

The handyman arrives at 10, removes the mouse. I feel a bit better. Until I think about the possibility for more, more mice. Ugh.

No, I’m not seriously going to sell my house. But obviously I will have to devise a plan for dealing with dead mice. The odds are good there will be more. My neighbor tells me she has had a few in her basement. Ugh. My pride would suffer if I have to keep calling the handyman to remove dead rodents. Let the planning begin.

My friend tells me that the mice are printing signs – “caution, killer cats inside” – and warning their mouse friends and family I definitely hope that’s true, lol.