jaeleslie

We were sitting around tonight watching a CSI rerun and wondering what that funny smell was in the living room. Could it be coming from outside? could it be something in the sofa? under the loveseat? It smelled like something died. But the squirrels that tried to get into the attic were barred from admittance, we've never had mice, and our kitty is getting on in years and doesn't chase the birds like she used to, much less bring them inside to play. She has been known to drag small animals through her cat door, and then lose control of them. But now she is feeling so old she doesn't even use the cat door, and mostly waits for someone to open the door for her.

We sniffed here and there. We changed seats. We took turns looking. We turned the loveseat over and found nothing but crumbs. Then M got the flashlight and played Crime Scene Investigator. They always investigate at night, in the dark, instead of waiting for the next morning, so they can use their cool flashlights. The big sofa is so close to the floor you can hardly reach under it.

"It's under there, something," he reported. "I'll lift it up, so you can look." I took the flashlight. He lifted one end of the sofa, I played the flashlight under it, and muffled a shriek. That was no mere mouse. Squirrel? Not quite that big.

More moving of furniture -- large heavy coffeetable, loveseat moved out of the path, then the two brawny guys hoist the foldout sofa to the middle of the room. Small dead bunny discovered, huddled in the dust. M and I howled a bit in disgust, and M retreated to his room. I looked at it again.

"It's not that bad," I reported, "just a little bunny." Mr S promptly found a plastic bag to wrap it in, and carried it out to the compost pile. Then he dragged out the vacuum cleaner.

"Good idea, that sofa hasn't been moved in years," I said.

"Oh I do this every time you go away," he said calmly. I suppose it's a good thing. He sponged the carpet a bit, then cranked up the kirby. Made it hard to hear the television. I watered some plants and then settled down again. He found the dusting attachment, and did the windowsill and took the cat hair off the curtains too. M came back out of his room and liked the arrangement with the sofa in the middle, making a yet smaller and more intimate room.

No bunny fur coats for the barbies? I asked. Mr S allowed as how that might be possible. "No skinning the bunny!" M protested. He disappeared again before the sofa was moved back. The vacuum went back in the closet. The rerun continued and resolved as expected, with less gore at the end than the beginning, as usual.

Kitty reclines proudly on the bed. At fourteen she is still the mighty hunter, fierce jungle cat, genetically engineered killing machine, stalker of careless stupid bunny rabbits. She is a puny little cat, so that baby bunny would be the equivalent of a thirty-five pound quarry to someone my size. She still has it in her.