Metropolitan Homesick Blues

Southampton Stories & Other Stuff

Molly the Mouser

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Molly is a cat that couldn’t care less. She is content to sleep most of her life away. All she wants are her treats, some catnip and of course your undivided attention when she demands it. Don’t expect anything more from her. She will only come to you for scratching and stroking when she feels like it. When she’s had enough, she will leave. Try to make her do what you want and she will scream at you incessantly until you let her be. Molly deals with you on her terms. Don’t expect anything more.

She was six years old when we took her in. We’re not sure what breed she is. We think she’s a Maine Coon. That’s not important, though. Whatever she may be, Molly is a beautiful longhaired tabby.

N. rescued her from a house already populated with a dog and three cats. When she first saw her, Molly was sitting, Buddha-like, high atop a hutch, as far away as possible from the surrounding confusion. Her attitude hasn’t changed much.

Now and then there are sparks of aggression. She will sit with me in the evening and allow me to pet her. Then after a ten or so minutes her ears go up and her tail flicks in agitation. Suddenly she bats my hand with her paws and bites. Now this cat has no claws front or back. But her teeth are needle sharp. She’ll fight with me for a minute or two, and then leave.

Molly isn’t much of a stalker either. Birds, chipmunks and squirrels ignore her. It is as if they know she isn’t much of a threat to their lives. I’ve seen her on our deck slinking towards finches and chipmunks. But nothing ever comes of it.  This cat is no hunter.

Or so we thought.

The other night, in the family room, a tiny mouse ran from under the chesterfield, along the baseboard and behind the TV. Molly saw it and to our surprise reacted like a real cat. But before she could pounce, the mouse, terrified by this creature no doubt, made it safely back under the sofa. Molly followed. Nothing happened. We went to bed. Normally she races us to the bedroom. But not tonight, tonight she stayed…watching.

We didn’t feel her presence on our duvet until about four AM. She was more rambunctious than usual and for some reason, tried to wake us up.

Later that morning we found the mouse. When I lifted the blanket off the sofa the poor thing fell to the floor. It lay on the carpet on its back, legs flailing, unable to right itself, unable to run and hide. It was injured and helpless. Our blasé cat was elsewhere…sleeping.

Obviously Molly the Mouser spent the night toying with the poor creature. After she tired of annoying her quarry she must have tucked it between the cushion and blanket and retired for the night.

We never, ever thought she had the killer instinct in her. It was latent, deep in the blood, I guess…

Molly is still sleeping. And after a night of mousing she probably believes she needs the rest. Molly has debunked her own self-created myth…she is a real cat after all.


Written by metropolitanhomesickblues

September 27, 2009 at 9:13 PM

One Response

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  1. Love the cat stories Ed! We are currently owned by 3 cats – one of which is a 27 pound Maine Coon. Molly does look very “coon-ish”. It’s amazing what instincts surface in house cats – bloodthirsty bunch!

    Shelley Reid

    October 21, 2009 at 1:01 PM

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