We’ve had a mouse that we’ve been hearing chewing on something (probably the house foundations) in the evenings while we’re watching TV. This has been unacceptable, since we have a cat that USED to be a fantastic mouser, sleep on our couch all day every day. I finally gave in and put out a D-con bait behind the TV two nights ago. The next morning, a corner had been chewed off of it, and it had been moved about 2 feet across the floor. The morning after that, it was gone entirely. I had this picture of the prehistoric squirrel from Ice Age and his bad-luck nut.
Poor Scrat.
Anywho, I digress.
I walk out of the bathroom this morning before 6. I still haven’t gotten my eyes open, but while brushing my teeth, I’d heard a thump and heard Steve trying to cajole Katie outside. I figured she’d jumped onto the printer or something, and he was punishing her by making her go back out (we discourage her hopping up on anything that isn’t sitting furniture.)
I round the corner, and here comes KatiePuss, scooting towards me, with an impossibly fat mouse locked in her jaws. I catch, her, she drops the still-very-much-alive rodent, I keep my hands on her but set her where she can grab it again, and we usher her outside. I would rather not start my day cleaning mouse innards off the bedspread 
Katie has redeemed her position as Mouse Assasin.
