Yesterday, I was sitting in the living room, watching some mindless television, when I heard a squeaking noise. It sounded like a squeaky dog toy. I don't have a dog, or any dog toys, just a ferocious, voracious tom cat. Or so I thought. I went to the kitchen to investigate, and discovered Winston chasing a large grey mouse in circles. An art director couldn't have chosen a better mouse to go with my cat. "Kill it. Kill it," I cheered, then thought the better of it. I felt like a spectator at an underground cock fight, and didn't want to stick around to see the denouement. He chased the mouse for five, maybe, seven minutes. Did Winston kill the mouse? No. I hope that Winston isn't operating under the assumption that the mouse is his playmate or friend, because Winston's #1 job is to kill mice. I gave him several stern inspirational talks about killing the mouse, and brought him back to the kitchen to sniff around. So far, no sign of the mouse's return. You can't prove a negative though, so I will continue to coach the cat to commit rodenticide.


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