No thanks, I'm full
Spring has most definitely sprung here in Richmond. Aside from the yearly assault to my immune system from trees jackin' it all over the place, there are the edible delicacies that the season brings. Take, for example, the plentiful mouse tartare.
Weva has been celebrating spring in her own inimitable style. I was awakened to a dual-layer shrieking a few days ago, that of a distressed mouse and of an even more distressed onemintjulep. As any cat-owner can attest, the best rodent shopping happens at around 3 or 4 am. (About the time that hardcore Wal-Martians are shuffling about in their pajamas with enormous packs of beef jerky and Tide detergent in cargo-sized shopping carts.) I burst into consciousness from a dream about Pyrex...
"Ohmygod! Ohmygod!!" (SQUEAK!!! SQUEAK!!!) "Oh jeez, oh... oh no, IT'S NOT DEAD YET!" (SQUEEEEEEAK!!)
I spent a good ten minutes chasing the poor, terrified thing around my bedroom while Weva looked on with smug self-satisfaction. Her satisfaction, however, soon changed to disdain as I had lost the thing somewhere in my bathroom. I gave up for the night after the mouse hid underneath the vanity. I spend the remainder of my sleep time dreaming about how bad the mouse would smell when it died in there.
As it turns out, however, Mr. Mouse showed himself in the morning and set off yet another crazed round of tag. Weva watched me bemusedly, and HeMan even tried to corner the thing. As soon as it ran around his enormous backside, however, he had no idea where it went. I did finally manage to catch it just inches away from onemintjulep's no-longer slumbering face, thereupon tossing it out the window along with the (appetizer?) dead snake I'd also found during my mouse hunt.
Ever since then, I've gotten one or two mice per day. Weva, after having observed my poor hunting skills, has kindly made sure that these subsequent meals were quite dead. In fact, she helpfully butchered one, carefully presenting its heart at the entrance to my bedroom, and its gutted carcass at the foot of my bed. I'm expecting an appropriate wine-pairing any day now. Oh, and either I'm overrun with mutant bobtailed mice in King William, or Weva just can't help eating the best part.