Wee gifties
Today, under my dining room table: a little dead mouse.
I threw it into the garden. S, lovable cat that he is, saw me throw it, picked it up, and left it on the porch for me again.
I don’t actually know who caught the thing. M just strikes me as the hunting kind of cat; she’s also eating less food, but not getting thinner. But I tend to underestimate S a lot.
It doesn’t amtter, though I will soon need to figure out new ways of letting them in and out, because the first time I find a no-longer-living rodent on my pillow, I will be thoroughly revolted.