Catch of the Day

Mister Whiskers walked into the bedroom and jumped on Louise’s bed. Louise absent-mindedly reached out and stroked him, without opening her eyes. There is no hurry to wake up on a Saturday morning. Mister Whiskers rubbed his face against her hand, purring loudly. Slowly, she opened her eyes, smiling at the big orange cat. Then she froze as she saw the present he had placed beside her on the bed. Screaming, she jumped up, ran into the bathroom, and slammed the door closed.

A few minutes later, Louise emerged in her housecoat and slippers, ready to face her day. She stared at the dead rat, still lying peacefully on the brown velvety bedspread. Mister Whiskers was sitting beside it, licking his paws with great satisfaction.

“No, Mister Whiskers! Bad cat!!!” She swatted at him, and he jumped down, running out through the bedroom door. Louise followed him out, closing the door securely. The cat ran to his food bowl expectantly, but for once she didn’t immediately feed him. She went to unlock the dog door to let Miss Priss out into the backyard but found she had once again forgotten to lock it the night before. Muttering under her breath, she went to find two plastic grocery store bags and the pooper scooper she used to clean up dog messes in the yard.

Back in the bedroom, Louise took a few deep breaths before picking up the rat in the pooper scooper, then dropping it into a plastic bag. She tied it closed, then deposited it into the second bag and secured that as well. Holding everything at arms’ length, she took the bags out and put them in the bin, then used the garden hose to clean the pooper scooper. Once back in the kitchen she scrubbed her hands with hot water and antibacterial dishwashing liquid until she felt clean again. Finally, she removed the bedspread and put it in the laundry in a hot wash using the “extra soil” setting.

Now she turned back to the orange menace, who obliviously wrapped around her legs, waiting for his breakfast. Shaking her finger at him, she threatened “Never again, Mister Whiskers! Never, ever bring me a dead rat. Or a live rat.” She shuddered at the thought.

* * *

The ratcatcher found no evidence of rats in the house. He suspected this one might have entered through the dog door. Louise refused to let him put out rat traps or poison around the house – she was concerned that one of her pets or the local wildlife might get trapped or poisoned. Miss Priss was just a small Jack Russell terrier, not that much bigger than the rat that had appeared in the bedroom that morning.

Phil came back from his trip on Saturday afternoon. Over dinner, Louise told him the story of the rat in the bed.

“We need to get rid of that cat,” said Phil for what seemed like the hundredth time. “They are killing machines that wreak havoc with the local wildlife and they have no loyalty to anyone.”

Louise rolled her eyes. “I love Mister Whiskers. He keeps me company while you’re away.”

“Cilla could do that just as well. And she actually tries to guard the house.” Miss Priss had come to the relationship with Phil and had immediately been renamed by Louise.

Louise sniffed. “Miss Priss is definitely a one-man dog. She has no interest in sucking up to me when you’re not here.”

Miss Priss looked up reproachfully at Louise, her head tilted to one side. Miss Priss received very little attention when Phil was out of town. (Mister Whiskers received zero attention from Phil, but being a cat, he didn’t care.)

* * *

Louise looked around cautiously when she woke up on Sunday morning, but the bedspread was completely uncontaminated by dead rodents. She carefully scanned the rest of the room – no bodies hidden on the gray rug or the white shelves. Mister Whiskers was lying on Phil’s side of the bed and she hastily called him over to her before Phil awoke and spotted him. “Let’s go and feed you,” she whispered, putting her feet in her slippers. Downstairs, she opened the dog door for Miss Priss and fed both pets.

As Louise went back upstairs to dress, Miss Priss and Mister Whiskers both lay in the backyard, sunning themselves. They had a common interest in chasing the rats that lived in the garden shed. Although the rats were cunning and usually evaded them, the thrill of the chase kept them trying. The rats would run across the yard from the shed to the fence, then scamper over the fence to Pete’s next door. Pete didn’t have pets of his own, but he trapped the rats and the neighborhood myth had it that he sold them to a local restaurant.

As Phil and Louise sat in the yard drinking their Sunday morning coffee and reading the news on their phones, a rat made a run for it across the yard. Miss Priss raced after it barking, while Mister Whiskers tried to beat it to the fence. The rat stood at the top of the fence, staring down at them, completely unfazed, while Miss Priss repeatedly jumped up the fence, yipping and determined to reach him. Phil said calmly “Tell me again why we can’t put out traps or poison?”

Louise huffed. “I don’t want either Mister Whiskers or Miss Priss eating poison or a rat that died from poison. And we have squirrels and possums that come around – I’d hate to kill them by mistake. It’s bad enough that Pete traps all the wildlife round here.”

Phil smirked. “Oh, like that damn cat doesn’t try to kill anything that moves in this yard. And cats kill just for sport; they don’t even eat most of what they kill.”

It was an argument they had had many times in the last three years, and neither expected to win any points. They just repeated the same sentences over and over. Louise was briefly tempted to poison Phil’s next cup of coffee.

* * *

On Monday morning, Louise awoke to another gift on the bed. Phil had flown to New York the previous evening for an early morning meeting, and she had gone to bed after dropping him off at the airport. Today, a gutted squirrel lay on the white pillow next to her – Phil’s pillow. “Oh, Mister Whiskers,” she whispered “you’re not even trying to be friends with him.”

Once again, she hid the evidence of the crime and cleaned the crime scene. In the evening, she did not mention this second dead body. Phil already disliked the cat enough. Before they went to bed, she made sure that the dog door was securely locked. If Phil found a dead animal on the bed, he’d try to get rid of Mister Whiskers.

On Tuesday morning, Louise awoke to Phil yelling at Mister Whiskers. The peaceful colors of the bedroom provided a quiet backdrop to a twitching, mostly dead rat. The cat was swatting at it, then pouncing whenever it tried to move. Stains on the carpet suggested that this had been going on for a while. Phil took the bedside lamp and killed the rat, then turned to Louise in fury. “Get that ******* cat out of here!” he spat angrily.

Louise snatched a hissing Mister Whiskers up from the floor and headed downstairs with him. The dog door was open. She hastily collected the bags and pooper scooper and raced back up to the bedroom to confront Phil. “I took special care to close the dog door last night,” she said, attempting to stay calm as she maneuvered the body into the bags. “Why on earth did you open it?”

Phil was not about to take the blame. “Well, somehow you slept through all the drama last night,” he hissed. “Your cat was puking in the kitchen so I cleaned up and let him out. Apparently, he started to feel a lot better and brought a damn rat into my bedroom.”

This was not the moment to discuss who owned the bedroom. Louise took the remains of the rat outside, then brought up cleaning materials to deal with the mess on the rug. Phil stayed angry as he dressed and prepared to leave for the office. On his way out he said threateningly “Tonight we need to talk about getting rid of that cat.”

Louise went back to bed and cuddled with Mister Whiskers. She knew Phil disliked the cat and would use this as an excuse to get rid of him. Miss Priss and Mister Whiskers didn’t like each other, but most of the time they each pretended the other didn’t exist. Louise enjoyed the calm, almost disdainful attitude of her cat, and hated the barking and high energy of Miss Priss. Phil found the dog a loving companion and harbored a deep antipathy towards all cats. Was that a big enough issue to break up a marriage? She thought about that and realized that she was going to have to compromise. She and Phil were perfectly suited to each other, they were still in love after three years together, and in the greater scheme of things, a human was more important than a cat.

Louise’s sister Miriam was startled to hear the news. Of course she would take Mister Whiskers. She had known and loved him since he was a cute little kitten. She drove over immediately to pick him up, along with his toys, litter box and other possessions. Miriam stood there awkwardly as Louise bid a tearful farewell to her beloved cat, then said “It’s only going to make it harder for him if you keep drawing this out. He’s getting upset already, not knowing why you’re crying. And you can come and see him every day once he's settled.” Louise sniffed and nodded. She had to be brave for Mister Whiskers’ sake.

When Phil came home, Louise was sitting out in the yard with Miss Priss on her lap. She needed a four-legged friend, and fortunately for her, dogs are very forgiving creatures. She had been feeding treats to Miss Priss and playing fetch with her for a couple of hours to build a bond with her.

“You were right, Phil. It’s not fair to keep Mister Whiskers here. He’s gone to live with Miriam. I’m sure he’ll love catching rats in the barn.”

She tried to smile at him, but her lips were quivering and her eyes teared up again. Phil was shocked. He hadn’t expected her to give up her beloved pet so easily for him. He gathered her into his arms and comforted her. “I’m so sorry, love. I know how much he means to you. I didn’t mean to be so harsh this morning. I am humbled that you care enough for me to give him up. Miriam will give him a great life, and you can visit him as often as you want. Let me cook you a special dinner tonight.” He kissed her as they walked into the house.

* * *

On his evening walk with Cilla, Phil saw Pete working in his front yard and stopped to chat. “Louise has gotten rid of her cat,” he said. “It just brought one too many critters into the house.”

Pete nodded sagely. “Women don’t really like to deal with dead rodents,” he said.

Phil smiled and passed him a hundred-dollar bill. “My wife loves me so much she gave him up to make me happy,” he said, “that means a lot to me. You may have saved our marriage.”