I am becoming my sim....
North-sim shares her space with a stripey grey cat she calls Quagga. If you have ever had Sims with cats, you know that they love to bring home the fruit of their hunting encounters as a gift for mom. Quagga in particular likes to try and present North with a mousie carcass under less than optimal circumstances. For example - when Raven, who North is trying to convince to move in with her, becomes suddenly interested in the love bed, Quagga will race in with deceased prey and frolic around the bed with it, and then leave it strategically placed on the floor.
My sweetie had already left for work, but I got a first hand demonstration this morning. We are currently sleeping on an air bed on the floor, so when the mailman woke me to deliver an early package, I thought I would crawl back in for another hour of sleep, but Frosty barreled into the bedroom after me, yowling.
I thought this was a regular cat complaint (you stood up, but you didn't feed me! Mroow!) but when I refused to get up again, he began to frolic around the bedroom, tossing something up in the air and catching it. Usually, he does this with a catnip carrot, but since I am only a few inches off the floor, and I was not interested in getting a drool-y wet cat toy in the face, I rolled over to throw it down the hall. Not a catnip toy, but thankfully not in bed with me... yet.
We then proceeded to have a difference of opinion on dead mice. Mom was very unreasonably trying to take it away for disposal, and Frosty (whose previous rodent experience consists of hiding in the closet when a hamster in a ball chased him) refusing to give it up. Stupid mother, can you not see that miniature mousie carcasses were just made for flinging around the bedroom?
Once I managed to wrestle it away from him, I realized I had no idea if he had killed it himself. Mice do get into the apartment crawlspaces in the winter, especially bitter snowy ones like this has been, and I was worried it had expired from poison. Not to cast aspersions on the hunting prowess of my mighty feline, but I have seen him spend an hour waiting for the laser pointer dot to come back out from under the couch. So, I have spent the day with a dead mousie in a handkerchief in the sink of the bedroom bath, and a very annoyed cat prowling about.
When Jim gets home, I get to present it to him. Mrrrrrow.
My sweetie had already left for work, but I got a first hand demonstration this morning. We are currently sleeping on an air bed on the floor, so when the mailman woke me to deliver an early package, I thought I would crawl back in for another hour of sleep, but Frosty barreled into the bedroom after me, yowling.
I thought this was a regular cat complaint (you stood up, but you didn't feed me! Mroow!) but when I refused to get up again, he began to frolic around the bedroom, tossing something up in the air and catching it. Usually, he does this with a catnip carrot, but since I am only a few inches off the floor, and I was not interested in getting a drool-y wet cat toy in the face, I rolled over to throw it down the hall. Not a catnip toy, but thankfully not in bed with me... yet.
We then proceeded to have a difference of opinion on dead mice. Mom was very unreasonably trying to take it away for disposal, and Frosty (whose previous rodent experience consists of hiding in the closet when a hamster in a ball chased him) refusing to give it up. Stupid mother, can you not see that miniature mousie carcasses were just made for flinging around the bedroom?
Once I managed to wrestle it away from him, I realized I had no idea if he had killed it himself. Mice do get into the apartment crawlspaces in the winter, especially bitter snowy ones like this has been, and I was worried it had expired from poison. Not to cast aspersions on the hunting prowess of my mighty feline, but I have seen him spend an hour waiting for the laser pointer dot to come back out from under the couch. So, I have spent the day with a dead mousie in a handkerchief in the sink of the bedroom bath, and a very annoyed cat prowling about.
When Jim gets home, I get to present it to him. Mrrrrrow.