Making the Mouse out of Life

(To the none of you who follow my blog religiously, I apologize for this being my first post in forever. But look up -- witty blog title!)

So, I finally came home for the summer yesterday, and I'm staying with my mother. Usually, when I come home, my cat lets me pet her for about 30 seconds before she hisses at me, scratches me and generally forgets that if it weren't for me, my mom would have never gotten her in the first place.

Last night, that wasn't the case. I was sitting on my computer, catching up on the half-day's worth of news I had missed while driving over Santiam Pass, and I'll be damned if my cat wasn't sleeping right next to me the entire time. She actually remembered to love me this time! I was so stoked.

Apparently, she really loves me.

I was getting ready to go to Subway with my mother for lunch today, and I took a shower and got dressed. I put on my shoes, and my right one felt as if there was something stuck in it, like a sock or something. So, I walked across the house from my old room to my mom's room and sat down on her bed while she was using the computer and untied my shoe.

I took it off my foot, looked inside and uttered, "Holy f***ing s**t!"

My cat really loves me.

There was a mouse in my shoe. Not a dead, decapitated one she killed and left me to snack on. A live one. She kept it there and allowed me the pleasure of getting to kill it myself.

Much to the cat's chagrin, I* instead took the mouse outside and let it go. But at least the cat doesn't know yet. I hate having to say no to gifts and/or free food.

*Disclaimer: By "I," I really mean "My wonderful, fantastic, loving mother."