On Tuesday morning I found a dead mouse at the bottom of my stairs, laid there by my 13-year old, thoroughly calm and domesticated cat.
This shocked me for two reasons, first because there had been no evidence of rodent activity previous to this, but mainly because Zsa Zsa doesn't seem like a cold-blooded killer. She doesn't like to play with things, preferring instead to sit on my lap and purr loudly and then fall asleep. She doesn't even have front claws.
Even stranger, Zsa Zsa didn't appear to be proud about what she'd done. Her attitude was very much "this is my job, don't worry about it." I have to agree because she doesn't contribute much to the household except for love and affection. Now she can contribute murder.
Then, on Friday morning I heard her attacking another mouse in my upstairs hallway. I think she carried it downstairs, thinking it was dead, and then it ran away and escaped into one of the heating vents. I can now verify that terrified mice sound like laser guns when they're cornered, making an awful squeak-squeak-squeaking sound.
I love mice -- some of my favourite pets have been mice -- but I can't say I feel sorry for these ones. If they're willing to make a home in an apartment that smells strongly of feline then they deserve to die...hopefully before they chew their way into my kitchen cupboards.
If you see Zsa Zsa, congratulate her on her accomplishments, but don't make too big a fuss. She's modest.