Cat and Mouse

Thud. Thump. I am awake now. Thump.

They are at it again, no doubt.

Though it is the middle of the night, I pad downstairs and turn toward the bathroom. Zip. A furry black flash runs out of the door as I approach. I peek inside, and spy Boo, the smaller of the two black cats who live with us. Boo is in the bathtub and has a small gray-brown mouse with her. I shoo her out, capture the mouse under a hand towel and carry it to the back of the house where I release it into the field. I am fully aware that it may be back inside more quickly than I can settle back into my bed, that would be its own choice. I am content that I have made an attempt to rescue it from the field hockey game Boo and the other cat, Sully, were enjoying with it. This is the second mouse I have freed from their dreadful game.

Not every mouse has been so fortunate. A few days earlier, I had found evidence of their game. As I cleaned and refilled their water bowl in the laundry room, I noticed a small scrap of gray fur. Gently I picked it up in a Kleenex and saw that one petite leg and paw hung from the shred of fur. Gruesome, though normal behavior for felines, I silently mourned the killing.

I ponder why it disturbs me so greatly. I belong to the primarily omnivorous family of humans, true. Perhaps it has more to do with my position within the human family. I see myself as a mouse, or rabbit, or deer. A prey animal. Predatory behavior terrifies me. I get no thrill from football game clashes, hockey fights, boxing. I cringe as bodies crash to the ground. Most often, I cower when conflict faces me.

My occupation as a nurse is consistent with the desires I have to help, comfort, ease pain, never to deliberately cause pain.

As I worked today, I reflected on being the mouse again. I skirted the cat, avoiding coming within reach of him and his velvet paws that conceal sheathed claws sharp as razors. Too recently, I have felt the pain, the horror as his cruel tongue decimated me, and his teeth tore at my flesh. I cannot trust the complacent demeanor he wears today within his white lab coat. In a blink unsuspecting prey have been skewered by his attacks. Just days ago,our conflict left me feeling like that scrap of fur with one small dangling paw that had ineffectively batted at the ferocity of his anger.

I spent five hours avoiding close contact, aware of him in the periphery of my vision as I skirted him to complete my work. My stomach was knotted, my chest constricted, my brow furrowed in anxiety. The adrenalin surged through me in waves as I retreated to my work area and then came within his circle.

The relief I felt when I escaped his lair, the place of his dominion, was intense. Gradually, I sunk into the driver's seat of my vehicle, and began to inhale and exhale in long slow breaths. I turned the car south toward my home, toward safety.
Until tomorrow, when I must come within his reach again.