The hunter

Part I
I woke up Wednesday night at 4 am to the sound of wretching.

At first I was just relieved that it wasn't me. Leaning over the bed, there was my little monkey, pictured at left in a nascent stage, throwing up one of the hair binders that my lady friend can't seem to remember to put away.

After a brief scolding (Go ahead, put this in your hair. Go ahead!), I cleaned it up and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. As I stepped onto the shaggy bathmat in front of the sink, my toes squished through something wet and cold. I looked down and it was obviously cat puke, but it wasn't puked cat food.

So I cleaned more puke, washed my foot, washed my hands and went back into the bedroom.

And there it was. Three inches long, its neck terminating in a bloody stump, was a little mouse carcass. At least I knew what I stepped in. Thanks monkey, for not bringing it up on the bed.

Part II
Last night, in the middle of some of the best sleep I've had in weeks, I wake up to the monkey charging into my room and rummaging around in the closet. Even I could smell the blood. So I watched him dig around, looking under things, looking behind things, sniffing with purpose and determination.

Eventually he came out with it in his mouth, little tail hanging out. It was almost cute. I followed them out into the living room thinking, I can't just let him eat it again. But how do I kill it and take it away from him?

He puts it down, the mouse stares at him and doesn't move. The mouse makes a run for it, the monkey grabs the mouse and picks it up in his mouth and holds it for a while. He puts it down, the mouse stares at him and doesn't move. The mouse makes a run for it, the monkey grabs the mouse and picks it up in his mouth and holds it for a while. He puts it down, the mouse stares at him and doesn't move. The mouse makes a run for it, the monkey grabs the mouse and picks it up in his mouth and holds it for a while. He puts it down, the mouse stares at him and doesn't move. The mouse makes a run for it, the monkey grabs the mouse and picks it up in his mouth and holds it for a while. He puts it down, the mouse stares at him and doesn't move. The mouse makes a run for it, the monkey grabs the mouse and picks it up in his mouth and holds it for a while. And on and on. What the hell do I do?

I know! I will pick up a magazine and roll it up and hold it in my hand. The magazine will give me the power to figure out what the hell to do.

He starts to bring it in the bedroom (at least I know he likes me best) and I yell, "HEYNODONTBRINGITINTHERE!" And he doesn't.

He comes back out into the dining room and puts it down and looks at me. The mouse makes a run while he isn't looking and gets away behind the old organ. "Shit! You let him get away! You fool! Get him!!" I'm pointing, "He's over there! GET HIM!" The monkey is looking at my outstretched finger with his head cocked to the side.

I realize that I'm going to have to play an active role in the hunt so I start moving things around next to the organ. The mouse is in there and as I remove its shelter, it bolts back behind the organ. So I block one side of the organ and pull the other side away from the wall. I send the monkey in and he emerges with prey in mouth.

He beelines straight for the bedroom, only this time I can't stop him. He drops the tiny thing, wet, broken, and scared for its life, in one of my nice dress shoes, the kind with the leather soles. My first thought is, "get that out of my shoe!" but then I realize, the shoe is a scoop. So I pick up the shoe and dump the mouse into the plastic bag from the Sunday paper, tie off the bag, and take it down to the can by the garage.

It was a good team effort. Neither of us could have done it alone.

But poor Sam, he is still looking for that mouse 7 hours later. I guess in order to end the hunt and reset his instinct, he needs to kill it, eat and vomit the head.

And I guess we have mice.