Mouse in my shoe
I stoically accept that these days I have to get up at dawn to let the chickens out of their house, but this morning I slipped on my garden shoes to go do the necessary only to find I couldn’t quite get the left one onto my foot. It felt like there was a soft something in there—maybe, I thought, a clean sock had dropped in while I was emptying the washing machine yesterday.
But no. One of the cats—I suspect little Billy, as he was watching intently—had left me a present. That’s right. At 6.15am I found a small (thankfully externally intact) dead mouse in my shoe. Lovely.
The last time a cat did this around me was back in the early 1990s. My dear departed Dolly was only four or five years old, and one night in the student digs I was sharing with my then-boyfriend we heard her playing with what we assumed to be one of her toys in the darkness. But come the morning my boyfriend discovered Dolly had hidden a dead mouse inside one of his shoes.
Then as now there was no scolding, as such surprises are intended to be offerings of love for the hopeless two-legs who cannot and do not hunt. If only they could teach us, and explain how much fun it is…
Why do they put them inside shoes, though? The other morning I rescued from Billy a small and rather beautiful bright green frog. He was tossing it around the garden mercilessly—cats never do mercy—but didn’t try to run off with it when I approached. I picked up the creature, put it in a box for half an hour to recover from its shock and then, making sure no cat spies were lurking, gently put it onto the compost heap, where I assume it came from in the first place. if I was a frog in our garden I’d live in or around the compost heap; there’s good stuff there for frogs, namely flies and a lot of other bugs.
Before we built the enclosure for the feathered ladies who constantly lunch, they loved nothing better than descending on the heap squawking and kicking around for tasty morsels. And sticking with the subject of chickens, the Battery Hen Welfare Trust is overwhelmed with orders for rescue hens, which is great news. Some people might have to wait as long as twelve months after all the publicity the cause has received this year. But I’m finding it difficult to secure the pure-breeds I’m wanting to add to our flock, again probably because there have been so many positive news stories about keeping chickens.
The breeders I’ve spoken to so far can’t hatch chicks and grow them to point of lay fast enough to keep up with demand, so if I want the ones I’ve set my heart on—Columbines—and if my beloved wants those he’s taken a shine to—Fenning Coucous—we won’t get them until July. The breeder in question offers many different types but these two are the most wanted. They are, it has to be said, exceptionally pretty and both produce distinctively-coloured eggs. We’re hoping to get two of each, as we’re told if you get one of any breed, it risks getting bullied. Breeds stick together. Who’d have thought chickens can be racist?
tags: cats, chickens, mice
8 comments on “Mouse in my shoe”
May 9th, 2008 at 7:02 am
You’ve got to love that name, haven’t you, Fenning Coucous? You can see what they look like, and the Columbines, here.
May 9th, 2008 at 8:12 am
Cat’s - they are so delightful - I do wonder sometimes why we put up with them ! - they have us so well trained
Fenning Coucou - its such a mad name - it could only belong to a chicken or a Drag Queen! they are pretty though as are the Columbines - which I’d love a couple of as well to go with my battery girls who apart from Nellie no longer look like they came from those horrible cages and the Barnvelder’s I’m getting at the end of May
May 9th, 2008 at 11:06 am
Fenning Coucou, International Female Assassin… Hmm, sounds like a comic strip character along the lines of a cross between Emma Peel and Tank Giril, doesn’t it?
Barnvelders… German? Dutch? I imagine them to be big sturdy buggers.
As for Nellie, yes, the smallest and scrawniest of ours hasn’t come on in terms of size or feathers like the others, either–although she has the biggest gob on her, loads of attitude, and is very happy. x
May 9th, 2008 at 2:12 pm
Thank you very much for rescuing my spirit animal.
May 9th, 2008 at 4:34 pm
What, the frog? Are you serious? I’m never sure with you… But I’d always do my best to save them, and hedgehogs, as they’re really useful to have around.
May 9th, 2008 at 4:35 pm
And if you are serious, mine’s an owl. x
May 10th, 2008 at 3:14 pm
Yeah, I’m serious. My totem animal is a frog and my animal guides are a turtle and an otter, I believe.
May 10th, 2008 at 4:21 pm
An otter is a great one to have as I recall. I took part in a fantastic shamanic drumming series of workshops a few years back, and one of the trance exercises was to go meet your power animal or animal guide. Mine turned out to be this seven-foot-tall owl (it not being literal but metaphysical–as in dreamtime). Ah, I love my drums… x
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