Cat and mouse

Cat and Mouse

The green eyes of the cat glimmered in the kitchen. Her fur was almost completely black, with tiny, dainty white socks on three feet, and an oval white patch on her stomach. She blended into the shadow of the fridge, the only light in the room coming from the flashing digital numbers of the oven clock, the eerie glow matching her eyes perfectly.

She answered to Tidge, although her full name was Tidgy-Cat McPusspuss. She had started her life as a stray, and was appreciative of everything her humans had given her, so accepted her undignified title.

It was some time past midnight, or to Tidge, during that magical time of night when miniature mousy mouthfuls feel brave enough to venture out of their hidey holes. She was in her favourite hunting position, with her feet tucked under her belly, turning her into a velvety patch in the shadows. Past experience had taught her the kitchen was a wonderful place to find a tasty bite. Her years on the street had given her patience to rival that of a sphinx.

There was a quiet humming emanating from the fridge, and barely any traffic noises infiltrating the hunting grounds. Tidge had been in situ for an hour already, her eyes fixed on the scarcely noticeable gap between the front corner of the oven and the cupboards butting up next to it. When the mouse wriggled his nose out, Tidge’s only response was to twitch the very tip of her tail.

Sensing no reaction, the mouse moved forwards slightly, allowing his whiskers to flick forwards. He turned his head from side to side, scenting the air, but Tidge’s smell was camouflaged by the odours escaping from the back of the fridge. Her eyes now had laser beam intensity, but her muscles were still completely relaxed. There was no point in expending any energy yet, the mouse’s whole body had to be out of his hole before she would stand a chance of catching him.

One scratch of claws, a pause, another scrabble, and out popped the mouse. He scampered out the length of a floor tile, and scanned the room. Tidge began to flex her back legs. The mouse hunkered back onto his haunches, looked around, then advanced a further tile. Tidge’s front claws gripped the floor, and her rear rose slightly.

The mouse suddenly dashed towards a kernel of corn. Still glistening with oil, although flattened from a human’s careless step, it required attention to lever it off the floor. The mouse gripped the edge with his front feet, trying to get a good grip on it, while Tidge narrowed her eyes. As soon as the mouse started nibbling with his teeth to speed up the process, she burst out of the shadows.

Although she was a scant four kilograms in weight, she was all wiry muscle and taut tendons under her silky coat. The mouse, so many times smaller than her, looked up and briefly froze at the terrifying sight.

His brain shrieked warnings of ‘house panther’ and ‘run!’ He reacted so quickly that he became momentarily airborne, losing under a second of his head start. He angled towards his hole, but Tidge had anticipated such a move. She adjusted her back legs, bringing her further from the mouse but about to block his path to safety. Prematurely thinking she had won the skirmish, she allowed herself to slow down.

The mouse instantly pivoted and dashed diagonally across the kitchen, aiming for a standalone cupboard. Tidge tried to recover but the meal which had brought the corn bonanza had left a thin layer of oil spatter on the tiles. In spite of her reduced speed, she lost her grip and kept sliding towards the oven. This gave the mouse enough time to reach the cupboard.

There was a gap of three centimetres between the cupboard and the skirting board. This was wonderful for the mouse upon his approach, as it gave him excellent clearance. Tidge never took her gaze off him, as he dove in and hunkered down. Quivering with fear, his ears swivelled back and forth, straining to hear the distinctive jingling of Tidge’s collar.

Tidge hadn’t survived her early years on the street without developing some truly killer instincts though. Once she recovered her footing, she tucked her chin down, pressing her tags to her chest, then ever so cautiously padded towards the cupboard.

The mouse’s nose twitched as he smelled something intriguing in the space under the cupboard. He swung his head towards it, whiskers shivering. This was a dangerous lapse in his concentration, but mice are so easily swayed by the prospect of food.

Tidge put her trust in herself, and thrust her left front paw behind the cupboard. The space that had given the mouse such easy access to safety was large enough to enable her to reach her entire leg in. The mouse uttered a squeak of terror as her paw swept across his back, and Tidge extended her claws and snagged the tip of one into his fur.

It wasn’t much of a purchase, but proved sufficient. Tidge pulled the mouse out, and rested a paw on his tail while she began leisurely cleaning her chest and down her spare front leg. The mouse sat perfectly still, then tried to run, before realising there was no chance of getting away.

When Tidge’s grooming was complete, she removed her paw and stared down at the mouse. He stayed in place, trembling, wary of his sudden good luck. This wasn’t nearly interesting enough to Tidge, so she pretended to be bored, and turned her head to the side. The mouse grabbed the opportunity to make a dash for it.

There was no head start this time. Tidge was too excited to wait for the mouse to get very far, and slammed her paw down before there was any need to move from her spot. The mouse sat in a stunned, huddled mound. He was too shocked to flinch when Tidge nosed his back.

She let out a low, crooning cry, with an upwards inflection at the end, partially encouraging, partially inquisitive. She wanted him to do something interesting, to make this chase more challenging. When she had lived on the street and her wits, she had to rely on her lightning fast reflexes, and an easy catch meant extra hunting time. This mouse was destined to be nothing more than a snack, and Tidge had all the time in the world.

The mouse eventually shook off his inertia and made another attempt for freedom. This time he scrambled over her outstretched front legs, his tiny claws catching in her fur. He used his back legs to propel himself as far forwards as he could, and ran towards the wall. He had almost reached it when Tidge’s paw scooped him up and bounced him off it. She picked him up in her mouth and moved him away from the wall, where there was more open space, and fewer possibilities of true escape.

Time and again the mouse tried to run, each effort earning him another smack from the cat’s paw. He was breathing rapidly, eyes constantly darting back and forth, searching for an exit from this terrible game. Tidge was in her element, sometimes even crouching over him, almost resting her chin on his shuddering back, purring with satisfaction. The smell of the panic rising from his overheated fur was tantalising.

Eventually he was too disoriented to have any strategy, from repeated blows. He ran aimlessly, zigzagging across the floor, and Tidge followed him, batting him around like a furry, squeaky ping pong ball. She let him reach the door stopper, which gave him the illusion of refuge, as he squeezed himself underneath it. It was in extricating him that she dealt him the fatal blow.

Tidge kept trying to make the mouse play along, but after throwing him in the air and pouncing on him, the fun was clearly over. She fastidiously cleaned herself, because no self-respecting cat eats while dirty, and then delicately ate him, morsel by morsel.