Last night I was in the kitten room, aka The World's Biggest Time-Suck, when I heard frantic meowing out in the hallway. I rushed out to discover Sodapop and a giant mole.
Thankfully, he had already killed it, and he just wanted to show me his catch.
This is the problem with pet doors.
I was actually kind of proud of the dude. He's the first of the three to catch anything since I've started letting them outside, or at least the first to bring anything in the house.
Note to cats: Keep the critters outside, okay?
So! Mole was duly noted, Sodapop was praised, and Mole went to the great mole place in the sky, aka, the brushy area off the side yard.
And I woke up this morning to find Mr. Mole, now considerably less flexible, deposited neatly on the rug in my bedroom.
Soda! Stay out of the animal graveyard!
I kind of doubt there will be many more moles. No cat I've ever had will eat them. Somebody told me once that they taste bad. I'll have to take his word for it.
But I am wondering what other critters may be carried through my pet door. Little Girl was a ferocious hunter, and I was always discovering mice and birds and frogs and all kinds of stuff that had been proudly deposited for me to find.
Maybe I should keep a running tally. I could do a chart! The names of the cats, and the species they caught, and ... naw. That's just weird, even for me.