This is Toulouse.
We got him when he was only one month old, so by technicality (and legality) we are his parents. What we say goes and most of the time he doesn’t listen. When he was growing, we taught him to be a “mouser,” as in one who catches and kills rodents. It worked out fairly well in the beginning. I mean, the place was like a veritable rat emporium.
He was helping rid the house of the perpetual rat problem. We always knew he was special and quirky (hence the name Toulouse) but recently I have come to the realization that he is a full-blown Sped. He has taken to bringing rodents inside the house from the outside and the last time I checked, his job was to remove the problem, not contribute to it. This is not okay.
I got back from work the other day to find out that he had brought in a chipmunk from outside and was batting it around. At the time I wasn’t visually aware because it was hiding under the couch thinking it would be safe from the cat’s wrath. A few hours later I was sitting on the couch and suddenly saw a small, brown blur run across the floor into the corner. The cat hightailed it to the same corner. I didn’t notice the cat because I was too busy jumping up onto the couch for safety, screaming and telling my boyfriend to “Get that fucking chipmunk!”
After nothing else of note happened (besides the cat vigilantly guarding the corner) we went to bed. A couple of days passed and not a peep from that corner where the rodent ran. I figured it left the house or the cat ate it. Both were plausible, the latter a bit gross.
Fast forward to this morning.
I awoke to hear what sounded like shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. At first, I thought nothing of it… just the cat messing with the trash or something. Then I remembered… THE CHIPMUNK! I slowly creep out of the bedroom and around the corner and lo and behold, there was the cat batting the chipmunk around on the floor. My first reaction was disgust the cat was still going at it and sadness for the poor chipmunk, but then I actually saw it. Pretty much half dead twitching its legs every so often.
I freak at the cat, vehemently scold him, and proceed to try and wake my boyfriend up to get the chipmunk out of the house. He wouldn’t budge. I go downstairs and in my grossed-out hurried phase, I rush to find something I can push the chipmunk with out onto the balcony. All I could find was a sponge mop. It had a long handle which was good enough for me. I was not about to get in close range with a half-dead rodent.
I come back upstairs and try to move the chipmunk out from under the table, but the cat is close and I couldn’t maneuver the mop in a way that could get it out to save my life. Every time I touched the chipmunk with the mop it twitched a little. I was on the verge of tears partly because it was so gross and partly because I felt bad for the creature, and that was enough for my boyfriend to hear it, get up, put the chipmunk on a dustpan and toss it outside.
I have never been so disgusted in my life.
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