I'm Eleven!

I'm eleven today! Well, eleven years clean and sober, that is. And if I don't have you guys to tell about it, who am I gonna tell? (I already told the llamas and the chickens and the sheep. They weren't terribly impressed.)

In honor of the occasion, Isis caught me a mouse. Actually, I don't think she actually caught it for me. I think she simply caught it. Then she didn't know how to kill it--no one ever showed her how to do that. She just carried it around in her mouth for two hours (I had no idea she had such a long attention span), growling and hissing like some horror movie demon in dire need of an exorcism, at which point I noticed the poor mouse was {gasp} still alive.

I don't think she meant to be terrifically cruel. I honestly believe she didn't know what to do with it. (As I've mentioned previously, she does enjoy carrying toys and toothbrushes and the like around in her mouth.) And when she put said mouse down, it tried--most heartbreakingly--to crawl away. Hence, the continued carrying.

I chased growling, hissing cat into the kitchen with the prize dangling from her mouth. I cornered her but she simply would not release her toy to allow me to put it out of its misery. (Unfortunately, it was far beyond saving at this point.)

Since I couldn't get the mouse out of her jaws, I did the only thing a very emotional woman with terrible PMS could think to do in such a crisis situation--I snapped its tiny neck while she viciously clung to it, cursing me through clenched teeth.

I've never killed anything with my bare hands before; I felt sick; PMS sent me reeling off into another room on the verge of tears.

What can I say--Mother Nature is a cruel mistress.

Now I have to go find the deceased before it turns up between the couch cushions, in a slipper, or somewhere equally as appealing...