robrohr.org : critters

Chubby Mouse Terrorizes House

robrohr — Fri, 11 Nov 2005 05:23:00 GMT

This evening, as M and I sat working on our respective homeworks, a little bit of a kerfuffle erupted under the stairs. I looked over to see our youngest feline housemate frolicking with some sort of toy on the other side of the apartment. If the headline hasn't given it away already, Ophelia had an exceedingly zaftig mouse skooshed under her paws.

First point: The cat in question, Ophelia, is a super timid cat, and somewhat zaftig herself. She doesn't like strangers, she doesn't like change, and she sure as heck doesn't like exercise. If there is any high speed tromping about the house, Ophelia is usually responsible for the slightly slower, more labored, heavy pawed tromping, whereas Hope, the momma cat, is greased lightening, engaging in cat psychosis at maximum speed.

Second point: Ophelia isn't known for her killer instinct. We had a bit of an infestation of flies a while back and neither cat distinguished themselves as any sort of predator. Their favorite prey is stationary kibble in a dish, and if any kibble falls out of their gnashing maw, it is somehow rendered uncatchable, and must be left on the floor to taunt our fair cats at future meals.

So, when I saw Ophelia actually leaping about under the stairs like some sort of catnip-addled mini-bronco, I figured something was up. As I approached, I noticed a hairball sized lump under her paws. Hmm. Perhaps a hairball. We have no shortage of those. The lump had a tail. Perhaps it's a cat toy. The lump was wriggling. Perhaps it's time for me to run shrieking to the other side of the condo.

Naturally I didn't shriek, as that would be undignified, and might startle Ophelia into dropping the mouse. So I congratulated Ophelia's killer instinct in a nervous, quavering, high-pitched voice from the other side of the condo.

"Er. Margot, I think Oh-ee has a mouse."

As Margot came over to see what was happening, Ophelia decided that she was the center of too much attention, and how is a girl going to torture her snack with all this congressional oversight? She grabbed the mouse in her mouth and headed upstairs. Margot decided this would be a bad idea, as a dropped mouse has a chance of being caught again downstairs, whereas upstairs is a virtual Tora-Bora for little mousey terrorists. Ophelia made it up three steps and promptly dropped the mouse.

Foom! The mouse made a zaftig beeline for the dining area, with both cats in hot pursuit. At this point, I am on the other side of the divider wall from all the action. Ophelia, Hope, and Zaftig Q. Mouse are involved in some sort of high drama that involves cats leaping about, some rather strident squeaking (I continue to insist that the mouse was responsible for this, not I) and some possum playing (again, the mouse), a nose-to-nose stare-down, and the eventual procurement of a box, under which brave Margot eventually trapped the mouse that Hope and Oh decided was apparently not worth eating.

Since the mouse was lucky enough to infiltrate a household populated by liberals (the people) and socialists (the cats) we decided on a catch-and-release system of summary justice, and I was dispatched to the hinterlands of the condominiums commons to reintroduce this mouse to his/her skinnier brethren/sistren, and let the neighborhood mice democratically decide the fate of Stuart "Little."

Our heart rates have returned to normal, and the hockey sticks have been located, so any future mice can be wristed from the condo in a more satisfying, though assuredly less humane fashion. Have we learned anything from all this? Only that allegedly starving cats won't wolf down the only fresh meat they are likely to see this year, and a mouse the size of a small pizza doesn't have what it takes to disrupt the lives of freedom loving Americans, like Hope, Ophelia, Margot and I. That mouse may hate our liberty, but there is nothing that can keep us from taking the battle to the beagle next door. Set water pistols on stun! Victory!

In which a boy learns something new about his darling...

robrohr — Sun, 02 Oct 2005 14:20:00 GMT

Margot was working out holiday travel plans and asked me about the timing of my final exams. I had her bring up my email on her computer so she could check my calendar. Once we were done, she asked me, "Can I send spam from your account?"

"Sure."

"You just said so because you know I wouldn't really do it."

"That's because you're an ethical person."

"Mostly."

Okay, I'll bite. "In what sort of situation would you not be an ethical person?"

"When yarn is involved."

"What would you do for yarn?"

Pause.

"Kill kittens."*

I love this girl.

* For any kittens who happen to run across this blog entry and aren't sure whether or not to take Margot at her word, be assured that you are completely safe. There are two kittens that have lived in close harmony with Margot for over a decade, and they would gladly provide glowing references as to her sterling moral character, as well as her love and devotion to the fur-beasts in question. One of the reasons this is so amusing is Margot's complete aversion to violence, her adoration of kitties, and the soft spot in her heart for the completely adorable antics of kittens. Should you feel threatened by Margot for whatever reason, blink your big kitten eyes at her, lick your chops innocently, flip over and show her your belly, while holding your paws like a little T-Rex, and try not to burp up any of her yarn.

If I had a hamster...

robrohr — Mon, 30 May 2005 17:04:00 GMT

...I'd hamster in the morning.
I'd hamster in the evening all over this land.
I'd hamster out danger...
I'd hamster out a warning...
I'd hamster out love between my hamster and my (other) hamster...
...Aaaaaaa-allll over this land.

Along the lines of my earlier Wacky New England Pronunciations post, I've decided that if I had a hamster, I would name her Hamcester.

Cats vote to form a union...

robrohr — Thu, 12 Sep 2002 19:41:00 GMT

In light of recent negative press about the cats during the Great Fly Massacre, both household cats, Hope and Ophelia, have voted to form a collective bargaining unit under the auspices of the 403rd Local Electrical Workers Union. The cats claim that the management has not been forthcoming in dealing readily with feline concerns, and feel that a new contract would be in their best interests.

The first negotiating session scheduled for last night fell speedily into disarray when talks bogged down over "litter springiness quotients" and the cats' unwillingness to eat bugs. Shop Warden Hope expressed dismay that management continues to offer only the most lifeless kitty litter, and continually ignores cat complaints over the lateness of meal service.

The cat negotiating commitee meets with management tomorrow at which point negotiations will resume. If an agreement can't be hammered out within the month, the cats will go on strike.

The Laird of the Flies

robrohr — Wed, 10 Jul 2002 14:37:00 GMT

I have heard mutterings from the masses that I haven't updated my site in over a week. After checking on the facts it is apparent that my site is almost a week and a half old. In an effort to appease the masses, I'm posting an update.

Friday, July 5, 2002
Last Friday, I left work early in order to meet up with Margot and head out to test drive a few kayaks with the hope of buying a new one for Margot. When I arrived home, I noticed an ungodly number of flies wandering about the kitchen window. I briefly considered rolling up a newspaper and going on a smushing campaign, but on further reflection, considering the success (or lack thereof) of previous home improvement escapades undertaken without the wise council of my sweetie, decided to await her imminent arrival.

She arrived home, was promptly and thoroughly disgusted by the seething mass of flies, and after a discussion, we decided that we would deal with the problem in a nontoxic, but effective way after we returned from the kayak adventure. We also hoped the cats would eat some of the flies while we were out of the house. We starve the cats specifically for this purpose, or so they would have us believe. On our way home from the test drive, we stopped at our local MallWart, bought some flypaper, as well as some clear plastic strips to stick to the bottom of the window pane.

We hung the paper, applied the window treatments, then sat back to dinner, where I had a stunningly good idea. We had a concentrated population of relatively docile house flies, and I had a pretty new, high power vacuum cleaner that had yet to prove to be a fiscally prudent investment. 2 + 2 would seem to be 4, and I was up and hunting those tiny bundles of instinct as soon as dinner was done.

I had a relatively good run, snagging about 60 flies, before I ran out of targets, and called it quits for the evening. There were still quite a few flies in between the various screen and storm windows within the casing of the kitchen window, but they would have to wait until the following day when we could focus all of our wits and cunning to combat this airborne menace.

Friday Kills: ~60

Flypaper Victims: 2

Saturday, July 6, 2002
Saturday morning was a good morning. Margot got up before me, and it wasn't long before I heard her downstairs with the vacuum cleaner, scooping up those flies that had found good hiding places and escaped my notice the evening before. By the time I'd made my way downstairs, she had scooped up 20 of the little buggers.

During the course of the day, in between various games of cribbage and a board game where we each tried to take control of Venice with flocks of pigeons, we would wander about the apartment and vacuum up any fly that was foolish enough to buzz about the open areas. By the end of the day, Margot and her Vorpal Vacuum Flybane had sucked up another 60 or so flies, and I added another 12 or so to the total.

Saturday Kills: ~72

Flypaper Victims: 8

Sunday, July 7, 2002
Sunday morning, we were up early to work a country music festival sponsored by the station. Margot snagged a few more flies that morning as we got ready to head out. Also noticeable was the huge increase in flies caught by the fly strips attached to the bottom of the windows. 98% of the flies caught by non-suction means were done by the window based fly management products rather than the hanging strip-based technology.

After a long day's work, we returned to find very few free roaming flies, and so, after sucking up the visible holdouts and snagging all remaining flies inside the various components of the kitchen window casing, we were left with one known fly buzzing about our condominium.

Saturday Kills: ~15

Flypaper Victims: 22

Monday, July 8, 2002
Monday morning showed only one additional fly stuck to the flypaper, and one little baby fly buzzing about the upstairs (in all this time, only two flies had the temerity to venture upstairs). It was now time to transform the carnage into cold statistics.

Flies Vacuumed: ~150

Flies Smushed: 0

Flies Stuck to various flypaper traps: 24

Flies Released to Warn Others About the Folly of Swarming Margot & Rob's Place:12

Cat's Confused by Incessant Vacuuming: 2

Flies Eaten by Cats: 0

Flies Harassed by Cats: 0

Flies Slightly Inconvenienced by Cats: 0

Cats Fired From Security Detail: 2

Cats Bothered by Newfound Unemployment: 0

All in all the campaign can be rated a success, though it still isn't clear where the source of all these flies was. Now if only we can do something about the slugs. And no, I'm not referring to the cats.