My Native American name is "Mighty Rodent Hunter"

This story about Louie Belle (our cat) is in honor of "International Louie Louie Day." (Yes, that's a real holiday. I know, I'd never heard of it either.)

It's natural to enjoy giving gifts to those whom we love. However, it's best to give them gifts they'd prefer to receive. A gift they do not like, even if you believe it is good for them, is usually not a welcomed gift.

Case in point:  Our cat, Louie Belle, thought I'd benefit from the gift of exercise. She decided to bring live critters through her cat door and set them free in the house to give me the dubious thrill of catching them to put them back outside. She only does this when my husband Jay is working a 24-hour shift at the fire station because this precious gift (eye roll) is for me alone.

One night, I was in bed watching TV when I thought I saw something skim past the door. When it ran by again, I leaped after it, yelling for Caleb to join me. Jindo dogs are small-game hunters, so I assumed he'd be eager to help. Instead, he opened one eye and then went back to his nap. Of course.

"You can handle it; I have faith in you, Mom."

The invader was a rotund, brown rodent about 5-6" long and nearly as wide. It had a stocky body and a short, stubby tail.  Kind of like an over-stuffed Twinkie with little feet. A type of marmot or an overfed lemming, perhaps. Its face was round with cheeks as chubby as mine when I was a small child.



My pretty sister on the left
Me, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the chubby rodent (minus fur and tail), on the right

I scrambled into the den after Mr. Chubby just in time to see him duck behind our  ridiculously heavy couch. With Louie Belle watching, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew it down. I mean, I finally lifted it. Chubby was no longer there. Louie crawled under to sniff where he had been, and then she, inexplicably, sat down to await his return. Arms trembling from exertion, I grabbed her tail and hauled her out with one hand before I dropped the couch with the other. Although I rescued her from being flattened like a feline pancake, she stalked away, clearly offended. Of course.

I scoured the den for Chubby. Rifling through the toy bin (yes, our pets have their own toy bin), I hit one of Caleb's nubby, stuffed animals--the one with a recording device inside. I'd taped a message for Caleb to listen to while we were away one weekend, and when I jostled the toy, my recorded voice blurted out, "Oh, you're my sweet Shmoopy Shmoo, I love you soooooo much..." When he heard that, Caleb ran in, wagging his tail in (what he assumed was) equal adoration. I glared at him for ignoring me earlier while my life was in imminent danger (don't judge me--it could have been a ninja-trained rodent, for all you know), so he walked off, puzzled, as I continued my frantic search.

Minutes later, I was thrilled to discover Chubby cornered in the living room by Caleb and Louie Belle. When they saw me, they politely backed away to let their Alpha (me, apparently) take over the hunt. Which gave Chubby time to toddle behind a bookcase.  Of course. 

Caleb and Louie sat, watching me with undisguised interest in how I would proceed. They cocked their heads in simultaneous curiosity when I moaned in frustration, "Why did you let him go? What kind of hunters are you?"
 

Caleb and Louie Belle, a duel embarrassment to small-game hunters everywhere

Moving the bookcase was not an option, so I banged on it for a bit.  Nothing happened. So, I shook it. Which made a hefty silk plant fall from the top of it and bounce off of my head. Of course.  

Louie and Caleb bolted in panic, so I spent the next five minutes rubbing my scalp and begging my "loyal" companions to return. They were deaf to my pleas, but Chubby grew so tired of my voice that he tried to sneak out of the room. I spotted him as he neared Caleb, who'd taken refuge in the foyer from the scary, "flying" plant. Did Caleb catch the rodent approaching his slavering, canine jaws? Nope. He placidly watched (of course) as I chased Chubby past him, shrieking, "Catch him, you stupid dog! Catch him!"

I pursued the Chubby's ample behind down the hall, into the bathroom, and trapped him behind the toilet. Caleb ambled in after me, so I sternly told him to stay, hoping his presence would discourage Chubby from trying to escape under the bathroom door. I found Louie Belle hiding under the bed from the "flying" plant, dragged her out, and shut her into the bathroom, too. I had to poke Chubby before she even figured out he was there. I can’t understand how she caught him in the first place. I think she was dozing the grass with her mouth open, and he accidentally crawled in.

I found an empty shoebox and ran back. When I opened the bathroom door, my guard animals were staring at the door with their backs to their quarry. Of course. Thank God (and I did), Chubby was still there. He was exhausted (he needs to lose weight if he's going to run indoor marathons) and napping by the bathtub. I was so spent that I wanted to join him, but, instead, I prodded him into the box, carried him outside, and set him free on the front porch. He waddled away and did a belly flop off the top step. "Eat a salad," were my parting words. 

I couldn't believe Caleb and Louie's apathy towards live prey. What did I have to do to get their interest? Put ketchup on him? He was cute, so I'm glad they didn't kill him, but was it unreasonable expect predators to catch him? He ran like a walrus, so how hard could it be? 

My lame attempts to capture Mr. Chubby convinced Louie Belle that I desperately needed more practice hunting, and her gifts of live prey continue.  

Someone needs to tell her that I prefer chocolate.  
  

Verse of the day:  (Romans 6:23) "The wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." Now that is one gift worth keeping.

For another story about how my pets torment me, click here. 
To read how I found the perfect gift for Jay (in my estimable opinion), click here.