Kill Blog #1

A friend suggested that I start a kill blog for my sweet sociopath pets. Since I definitely get more death in my house than dates, it seems like a reasonably entertaining way to stave off writers' block. If you have a weak stomach or can't handle witnessing the circle of life in suburbia, you might just want to skip any Kill Blog posts, including this one. 

As I've mentioned before, I am blessed to have three very distinct funny, furry personalities in my home: one dog and two cats who take protecting the house from rodent infestation very seriously. The cats have access to come and go as they please, which means they sometimes often bring their "work" indoors. Tonight when I came home from a night out with my friend L, my dog was super excited to show me this dead mole in the bathroom. 

I'm not sure what the deal is with moles. I think the cats bring them in, kill them, decide they are too small to deal with, and stash them just under the dryer to torment the dog. This is the third one Lola has alerted me to in the past week. At least moles are teeny and rarely mutilated when I find them in the house. Birds and rodents on the other hand are usually a bit, um...messier.

I won't rehash all the former kills. There will be plenty more in the future, I'm sure. However, allow me to tell you about one particularly bloody weekend. It is kind of gross, but you have to be just a little impressed with the sheer volume and creativity.

Friday (The Trifecta)

• 6:30: Lola starts freaking out and begging to be let down off the bed. I’m pretty sure that means one of the cats has brought a gift and I don’t want to deal with it, so I let the dog down and pull the blanket over my head and pretend to sleep.
• 7:00: Whimpering and running around on the hardwood floors hasn’t stopped, so I get up to investigate.
• 7:02: Clean up rat head, rat tail, and random rat innards from the hallway. Let the dog outside. (#1) 
• 7:15: Dog won’t come back in, is trying frantically to get at something in/on/around the lawnmower. Cats are also lurking in the vicinity. I move the lawnmower all around to prove there is nothing there, but dog is not convinced.
• 7:25: Dog is losing her mind trying to dig under the lawnmower, so I turn it over to, once again, prove there is nothing there. Only there is. A freaking rat is clinging to the bottom. I run and grab a bag and broom.
• 7:26: As I try to gently extract the rat to relocate it to a safer home, the dog swoops in, plucks the rat up by the tail, starts shaking it like a squeaky toy, and runs triumphantly off to her hiding place under the porch swing. By the time I get across the yard, the rat is dead. Despite the fact that the cats make me deal with death almost daily, I am somehow totally traumatized to see my sweet fluffy lover dog take such glee in killing something right in front of me. (#2)
• Sometime that evening: Black kitty is playing with two halves of a rat in the hallway. (#3)

Saturday/Sunday (The Lesson)

My friend T called me on Saturday night and asked if I wanted to meet her and some friends for a drink. Since I hadn't yet changed into my sweats (you know I love them!), I decided that it would be just as easy to say yes as it would be to say no. I left the house around 9:00 and headed down to Ballard. I had a great time and for the first time in probably over a decade, I ended up staying out all night. 

When I arrived home at 8am, I noticed something seemed amiss. Nothing major, just a few papers strewn about, like the cats had gotten a little rambunctious. I let the dog out to pee and then started to head off to bed. However, I was stopped by the sight of my slippers where I'd left them in the middle of the living room. Only now, one of them was decorated with a rat foot, a rat tail, and a neat little package of rat organs. Do you understand what I am telling you? There was a little rodent still life artfully arranged on my slipper. I grabbed a paper towel and a grocery bag and leaned in to start the cleanup. It was then that I noticed the rat head, eye wide open, staring at me from INSIDE MY SLIPPER. (#4)

I get it, kitties. You are cute, furry, little four-legged mobsters. You leave me disgusting little messages to teach me not to spontaneously stay out all night. I'm just going to clean this up and go to bed...What the hell is that bird doing on top of the bookshelf?

In my exhaustion and shock over the slipper, I had failed to notice that the cats were both keenly focused on a little bird sitting on top of the bookshelf. I opened the door and the bird started to fly towards it, but the little black kitty jumped from the back of the couch, grabbed the bird in her mouth and carried it off under the bed. 

Luckily, the bird made its way to a corner behind the nightstand where I was able to retrieve it and release it outside. (#4.5) Later that evening, I caught black kitty once again playing with two halves of a rat in the hallway (#5.5). 

My garbage collectors must hate me.