Of cats and a mouse

First of all, let me begin with an apology -- I'm posting this a day late. But it's not my fault ... really.

All my life, I've had cats in the house. My dearest one was Sheba, a Siamese who lived to the ripe old age of 21. I tried living without one for a time, but a year ago last March, I decided just having a dog wasn't enough. I loaded up two of the grandgirls and headed for our local animal shelter.

Tabby came home with us. Tiny and completely gray, I expected her to be one of those sweet, lap-dwelling cats. You know, the kind that never find their way to me. I usually get cats with attitude, who decide my house is actually theirs and I'm lucky to be allowed to live in it.

It happened again. Tabby turned out out to be part Siamese, which is fine with me. The problem is that she recognizes we have rules and simply ignores them. She greatly resents that my daughter's oldest cat, who lives next door, is allowed in and out as she pleases. My Tabby wants that same freedom ... except she refuses to stay near our property.

Her revenge is to do sneaky things while I'm not home. Which leads to the reason I didn't post this yesterday.

I had every intention of doing so. I went to my home office, cup of tea in hand, and realized there was an overturned disposable coffee cup from the neighborhood coffee shop on my desk. And I vaguely remembered that a tiny bit of creamy-laden coffee had been left in the cup when I'd gone to bed the night before.

Alas, memory served me well. The optical mouse sat in a congealed beige pool atop the mouse pad. My heart sank as I picked up the mouse and creamy coffee dripped out.

I spent a long period of time with a paper towel, shaking the sad little device and watching as tiny drips came out. I booted and rebooted, hoping against hope that the cursor would move.

Yeah. Like that was going to happen.

Tabby was smart enough to stay skedaddled while I fussed at the computer. She was nowhere to be found as I gave up in disgust and went to bed. She did, however, sneak onto the bed later and curl beside me, purring. Don't be fooled; it wasn't an apology. The temperature dropped and she was cold.

So here's the bottom line: I'm typing this on a borrowed computer, and after I leave my day job, I'm heading to the office supply store to buy a replacement. And if the clerk asks what the problem is, I'll simply tell the truth:

My cat killed the mouse.