My husband has this cat that he loves and thinks she's so cute. She's not. Her name is Persephone. She thinks she's a panther. We got her as a kitten and she was happy to be an inside cat until last year when she decided to travel the world and find herself. She would sneak out the door when we let the dogs out, and when we stopped her, she would barrel through our window screens- breaking them on the way out. We finally gave up and let her come and go as she pleases now.
|She's a little biger now, but still fopols people with that angel face|
This summer, Persephone has invested her time in hunting for sport. We don't have any rodents for her to hunt at our home, so she goes to the end of our street where there are little league fields surrounded by woods. She brings home rabbits, birds, and mice expecting a round of applause and room on the mantel to display her work.
I have had pet mice. Furry little balls of mice-y cuteness that I am in no way afraid of. The mice Persephone brings home are not like pet store mice. they are HUGE and TERRIFYING and DEAD. Seriously, the stuff nightmares are made of. My skin is crawling just writing this.
Baby 4's caseworker came over for her bi-monthly visit last week. We spent some time talking about 4's respite weekend that started that Friday- which he wass super excited about. Then we talked about the fight that broke out at the last visitation- which I will blog about later. Finally 4 said, "Do you want to come see my rocket?", and we headed outside.
AND she obliged
AND Baby 4 told her about the last one we found in the yard that had bugs on it
AND he told her that Mommy is afraid of rats and so she left it in the yard until Daddy got home.
AND I was mortified
AND we look like dirty people with a mouse infestation
I want to send her a follow up email:
We really don't have a rodent problem. We have a wild cat problem. I will immediately give her away on Craigslist.