Does this cat look like a killer to you?
*photo of Mabel:
See how snuggly she is, all curled up on Bumblebee’s bed?
*photo of Mabel curled up on top of a blanket:
Sure, she looks all innocent and fuzzy, with that pretty black and white fur. But don’t be fooled. This cat is a murderer.
Two years ago, we gave Mabel a home. Our theory is that somebody dropped her in our neighborhood on Halloween. She had never been in the area before, and suddenly appeared with the trick-or-treaters. She followed The Boy and his friends around all night, and then she camped on our front doorstep and begged to be let in. She meowed at the door for several nights before we took pity on her and let her come inside. After a fruitless search to find the owner, we decided to keep her.
We wondered why someone would dump such a pretty, trained, social, snuggly cat in our neighborhood. I thought maybe the previous owners had to move and couldn’t take her with them. Or maybe they had a baby who was allergic to cats. Perhaps they got a job that required a ton of travel and didn’t feel right leaving her alone for long periods of time.
Those were my original thoughts. However... Now I know the real reason someone would want to get rid of Mabel.
She’s a bad-ass killer! Don’t be fooled by her adorableness. She’s the Clint Eastwood of cats. The Freddy Krueger of felines. A veritable Hannibal Lecter with hairballs.
But mice aren’t interesting enough victims for her.
She prefers the challenge of a larger, tougher victim. I’ve mentioned how she likes bunnies. She has killed many of them this summer, and has brought three of them into our house.
But bunnies are pretty helpless. And so Mabel, like all serial killers, has moved on to greater challenges. Her MO has changed. Look at her… she’s staring out the window, scheming, and planning her attack:
*photo of Mabel looking out the sun room window into the back yard:
This is a squirrel:
Squirrel – meet Mabel. And run. Real fast.
Last night, I went to fill my water can so I could give my flowers a drink, and I almost stepped on a dead squirrel. Actually, it was only half of a dead squirrel. The back half.
I was grossed out and called The Husband over to dispose of it. As he was looking at the squirrel carcass, we heard a dainty meowing from several feet away. We turned around to see Mabel meow sadly a few times and then noisily regurgitate the front half of the squirrel in a pile of steamy, gooey nastiness.
The Husband and I both gagged. As awful as it was, I could not look away, and was disgusted to see the outlines of the poor squirrel’s head, brains, etc. in that warm blob of puke.
What? Too graphic? So sorry!
Hollywood was about to leave to go spend the night with a friend, so we tried to strong-arm her into cleaning it up. “Oh hell no!” she laughed and hopped into her friend’s car. "Have fun with that!" she waved as they drove away.
The Boy had a friend sleeping over, so I hollered at them to come to the front yard. I offered the boys $10 each to clean up the mess. “I’ll do it for free! That’s cool!” The Boy’s friend said enthusiastically after seeing the carnage left behind.
Gag. Boys are weird. I've always known this.
One of them picked up the squirrel carcass and the other one picked up the mound of regurgitated squirrel brains. (ha – I wonder if the phrase "regurgitated squirrel brains" will show up on my google search terms report… It's only a matter of time, there are weird-o people out there!)
Cleanup took them 30 seconds and they earned $10 each. It was totally worth twenty bucks to have them do it.
Whew – after all of that murdering and vomiting, Mabel’s THIRSTY! She's probably trying to wash the taste of squirrel brains out of her mouth.
*photo of Mabel drinking from the water dish:
Gag. This post should be bookmarked so I can read it before I eat a large, calorie-packed meal. Diet control indeed.