I wish our cat Goog had the same work ethic as my husband.
It's 20-degrees-below zero and my hubby is outside working on a plumbing system in the utility room, which is attached to the milking parlor. For the last several weeks, I have had to give up two hours of washer and dryer time in the house to wash and dry the microfiber towels we use in the barn. All the bits of sawdust that stick to the towels, end up in my laundry room.
The cat is working hard too. She's in the basement stalking all the mice that have been moving into my farm mansion because it's too cold outside. She works hard at finding the mice; she just needs to pump up her work ethic and finish the projects.
How much effort can it take to decimate a cute little varmint with buggy eyes, especially when you have sharp claws and teeth?
Mice don't creep me out during the day, it's what happens in the dark that gives me the heebie-jeebies.
For two days, Goog was bringing us "toy mice" in the middle of the night. In fact, she brought a mouse into each of our three bedrooms.
The first mouse was a gift for Joey, in the middle of the day. According to Joey, he heard quite a rustling on his bed, as he was "working" on his computer. At the very second he turned to see what the ado was about, Goog "threw" the mouse at him, squarely at his chest. Joe said, as he hit his own chest with an open hand, "It hit me right here and I jumped out of my desk chair and landed near the door."
That's about 13 feet across the room. I have a hard time believing he can jump that far.
I was surprised I didn't hear Joe's infamous "girl-scream."
"I didn't know what it was," Joe added, with just a tinge of excitement.
Joe managed to capture his pint-sized attacker by covering it with one of my favorite, clear Rubbermaid containers, scooping it up and sealing the lid.
The following day, Russell was trying to calm the rambunctious Goog, at 4 in the morning, as she raced around in his bedroom.
Russell thought nothing unusual until he felt something quickly scurry across his forehead. (See why I don't like mice when it's dark out. It's like one of my worst nightmares.) Russell yelled for his mommy, but he was yelling for mouse traps.
Like I am going to go look for mouse traps at that time of day! Preposterous.
We brought Digger, the rat-terrier, into the house in an attempt to get the elusive needle-clawed mouse, since the cat was not interested. Digger was just so excited to be in the house, he was unable to focus on a tiny mouse. I think he jumped on every chair, bed and pillow he could find.
Eventually, Joe and Russ trapped the mouse; again, in one of my Rubbermaid containers. Not the same one of course, but a different clean container. (I have bigger things to worry about than scolding for using my Tupperware. It's gross, but not the end of the world. I have bleach.)
That very afternoon I heard from rooms up above, "Honey, it's our turn. I walked into our bedroom and there was Goog playing with another mouse." (At least he didn't scream for his mommy.)
For the third time, Joey trapped the mouse using another clean Rubbermaid container.
That's why Goog needs to get a work ethic at good as Steve's.
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