Of Mouse and Cat

by Tom Shafer

September 1, 2019

So, I recently slipped into the hot tub after a late evening thunderstorm rumbled through the area – which I considered a bonus because the weather forecast had been calling for 100% chance of rain overnight. Though I occasionally hot-tub (yes, using it as a verb) in inclement weather, I typically avoid harder rains because of the “splash” factor – which can be annoying. Anyway, it was muggy, but I knew the hot, bubbling water would help my surgically repaired back after a long day working in the yard.

I was thoroughly enjoying nature’s light show, safely, because the storm complex was at least fifty miles east, now pummeling Columbus and its suburbs. Though I could hear an occasional roll of thunder, the sound was muffled and distant. However, the lightning display was impressive – as lightning always is. Long fingers reached silently across the sky, sometimes whitish-blue, other times a reddish-yellow. Sometimes it was a single long streak or billowing of light; other times it was a multi-pronged serpent snaking purposelessly through the night.

I wondered what my native brothers thought about nights like tonight. I know my Cherokee ancestors believed that the Thunderers were powerful storm spirits (also known as the Thunder Boys) who appeared in human form and could bring rain and blessings to their people. Many tribes (the Algonquian, Ojibwe, Winnebago, Chinook, and Sioux among others) worshipped the Thunderbird, an enormous creature whose beating wings created wind and thunder and whose eyes flashed lightning – and who was revered and feared for its power and strength. We certainly felt that power and strength when the storm trundled through the Miami Valley.

As I lay there soaking, one of our outdoor cats, Boots, hopped up on a little bench next to the hot tub. Boots “found” us shortly after we moved here five years ago, and she sleeps on a comfortable pad located on our front porch during the summer and on a similar heated pad in the garage during winters. Though a feral cat, she loves attention (especially pettings from me) and frequently hangs out with the humans who inhabit the home.

A vocal little thing, Boots mewed annoyingly at me until I dried off my right hand and began systematically stroking her from head to tail. Of course, her purr box went from DEFCON 5 to DEFCON 1 almost immediately, and she leaned hard in to each rubbing. This went on for a couple of minutes until I decided to return to my nightly soaking ritual.

Boots embarked on a bath of her own, and started with her head, first licking her paw then wiping said paw on her forehead and eyes. She continued this for several minutes until she was suddenly distracted by something on the windowsill just above her. She stared at a singular spot for several moments and apparently could see something that I could not. As my eyes adapted to the lack of light, I finally honed in on her “distraction”: a small field mouse was sitting in a very stationary position between two geodes – apparently frozen in fear!

Now, I was not necessarily surprised by the mouse. I knew that at least one was living in a pile of leaves smashed between the bench and the house. I had seen it several times through the winter running back and forth along the base of the deck – and had heard it many other times rustling in its little leaf home.

But to see it on the windowsill – with Boots no more than two feet away – well, that’s something I would not expect.

Now, a full stare-down was on. Boots was gaping at the mouse, the mouse was ogling Boots, and I was playing eyeball tennis, glancing from one to the other and back again. One full minute passed, then Boots broke the engagement. She meowed loudly at me and demanded more petting. Of course, I acquiesced and once again started patting her on head and back.

Meanwhile, the mouse, now aware that its nemesis was preoccupied with carnal pleasure, slowly started moving past the geode and other rocks decorating the sill, quietly slipped onto the bench, then quickly jumped down into its leaf home. Boots looked back languidly at the brief crunching sound, but turned back to me for more attention. The Wild Kingdom drama that I had expected was extinguished just like that.

Now, it may have been the lighting (or lack thereof) – or my imagination, but I could have sworn that the field mouse was actually smirking as it made its way along the ledge and back to its nest. Or maybe it was amazement – or shock – or a blank, mouse-like expression.

Anyway, I’m not sure what happened that evening, but for my money, that was the luckiest mouse ever. Perhaps it was the charged air from a vacating storm or the fact that Boots was seeking affection. Perhaps Boots wasn’t hungry – at least not for a field mouse. Or maybe it was divine intervention by the Thunder Boys.

No matter. I gave Boots a little more attention, then returned to my enjoyment of the warm, pulsing water – and the continuing light show. That was the only drama I wanted to witness on this particular night!