Last night Maggie danced around the bed, making meowing sounds not unlike a sewing machine gone mad. Little attention was paid to the placement of our heads on the pillows, nor was our comfort regarded in the slightest. We were a highway to achieve her objective, a shortcut to reaching her goal.

There was a moth in the bedroom.

And the spirit of Psycho possessed her, making her meow pitifully and her whiskers twitch in her desire to catch it. She was so intent on catching the moth that she wound up wedging herself between the headboard and the wall uncomfortably, much like a cartoon character. We had to un-wedge her from behind the bed, and as the moth dove past us and back behind the bed the stupid cat followed it, neatly lodging herself back behind the bed all over again.

My cats are very entertaining, but I never said they were smart.

(And yes I know they look alike. Strangely, they're not even related-Maggie is one year older than Mumin and she came from Stockholm. Mumin came from a Swedish farm in the middle of the countryside. If I follow stereotypes, I guess this means that Maggie is a Cosmopolitan-drinking high-heel boot loving girlie girl, whereas Mumin likes a roll in the hay and appreciates her beer, thank you very much. And strictly speaking, I guess this would actually sum up their attitudes.)

They have gotten completely used to being inside and outside all the time. They have figured out where home is, and periodically come running inside just to check that all is right with the world, that their food bowl is where they left it and that one of us is around to nurture any insecurities that might have blown up from being in the Big Bad World. If the door accidentally gets closed, their cry is so loud and so pitiful that it's clear they're being tortured, either by boiling water, any Paris Hilton show, or Tom Cruise explaining his view on psychiatry to them.

And it's become clear that the one I thought was clever, Maggie, is actually the not clever one. Maggie doesn't go outside very much, but likes to sit in the doorway, a hall monitor to the world. All this time I thought of her as the sleek one, the mastermind, the one destined to take over Luxembourg. It transpires that Maggie is actually El-Thicko, and about the only thing she's capable of taking over is Angus' T-shirts that he drops on the floor when he takes them off.

She's really just a couch cushion.

Maggie has become extremely good at catching her mortal enemy, the one thing that could bring destruction on the feline race. It's as though she takes it personally, the fact that they are allowed to come into the house uninvited, and take up her breathing space. She has become singularly focused on the complete and total extermination of the moth race, and seeing as they are good at nibbling holes in sweaters here in England, I'm happy to help her out, karma be damned.

Last night as Angus was brushing his teeth, a moth the size of a baby's foot flew in to the bathroom. I stood at the top of the stairs and called Maggie to come upstairs. She came, tail in the air, an answering meow the call of the cavalry, a willing soldier for the aid of her country. She walked into the bathroom.

And went mental.

Nothing could get in the way, bottles of shampoo, the open toiled lid, the bathtub, Angus. She meowed that fractured hunting meow as she dove about the room, paws in the air, tail sweeping the floor. We were in fits of laughter watching her think that she was the Real American Hero, capable of leaping halfway up the wall, when nothing short of a visit to Weight Watcher's and a pair of stilts could actually achieve that. It didn't help that Angus and I were encouraging her- Get the moth, Maggie, oh my God, get the moth!

She was whipped into a quivering black and white-furred frenzy, a crack addict yearning for her latest fix of fuzzy moth wings. The moth flew down from the top of the walls, making a mortal error and teasing her as he did a flyby over her head. But Maggie was ready, and as she jumped up and caught the moth, she used her paw to tuck it into her mouth. She looked at us pleasantly.

'Oh my God!' I shrieked. She had the moth in her mouth and her mouth was pulsating. The flapping of the moth wings vibrated through her empty skull, a patina of rap music. We could actually hear the thing buzzing in her mouth.

Revolting.

She took her quarry and ran downstairs, where by the sounds of it a game of capture, torture, release, repeat occurred. When she finally returned upstairs she deposited an empty hull of a moth at my feet. Shuddering, I remembered the advice I'd received, so I thanked her kindly, pet her, then retrieved the dearly departed and flushed it down the toilet. This, so that she could find another moth in the bedroom and not let us get to sleep for another hour as we indulge her hunting needs.

This has been a pattern she's showing. She brings me gifts of dead insects (which I prefer to the mammalian variety), but I am most amused when she gets one of her toy mice, carries it outside, bats it about, then carries it back inside and deposits it at my feet.

Look at the gift I have wrought, her expression says. Mumin brings you dead animals, and I bring you dead animals. Our love is equal. Fear me, for I can kill and I can rule Luxembourg.

I reward her and thank her and grin that at least she brings me animals whose only chance at animation would be in a bad Kenneth Brannagh film.

Oh sure, she looks innocent.

But just look at those fangs of death.

This morning I wake up, groggy. Neither Angus nor I could sleep and so melatonin was uncorked around 1 am. I am tired and have to trek into London, and when I get up I take a shower and head downstairs for the java we so well and truly need.

And there, in the middle of the kitchen, is what is obviously a Mumin offering.

I feel like cold water has been thrown on me, because the animal wasn't there last night, when Mumin came in and we locked up and went to bed. This means the little buddy was already in the house. This means the thing was lurking in our home, either in a state of hidden fear or near death, while we slept. It was in the house.

Mumin looks at me and smiles. Maggie may give you insects, but I bring the money presents, baby.

Shaking, I pet her and thank her, as she sits by her lifeless gift, her tail flicking. Maggie walks in and sits in the kitchen doorway, looking at her little sister.

Bitch, her expression says to Mumin. I knew I should've asked for a brother, instead of asking for you.

Mumin flicks her tail in return, her expression one of the cat who not only caught the cream, but made sure it suffered before it died. Bite me. Some of us have obviously graduated from remedial hunting.

I wish they knew the phone number for the local florist's. Now there's a gift I'd be happy to find on the kitchen floor in the morning.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:31 AM | Comments (21) | Add Comment
Post contains 1291 words, total size 8 kb.

1 I've never quite worked out why cats take shrews ... they don't eat them. Apparently they don't taste very good - a sentiment I'd extend to most of the micro mammels but there you go. Still crazy moth catching maggie sounds like fun - just remember to put the toilet seat down!

Posted by: Rob at August 10, 2005 10:59 AM (kXZI6)

2 My two cats would go equally psycho over any kind of insect, but they had two other quirks. Tess loved the plastic rings from the milk jug. She would play with them for hours on end, sometimes even digging them out of the trash. She would leave the empty bacon package and get out the plastic ring. Scarlet would turn feral at the sound of any paper being rustled, or crumpled up. She loved to play with balls of paper. Yeah, I sort of miss those two.

Posted by: ~Easy at August 10, 2005 01:09 PM (UQp2v)

3 I loved this entry! It sounds like my cat would enjoy hunting in England...she adores moths. When she began coming around, as a stray, she romanced me. Over that summer, she brought me four mice, one butterfly and a cicada. Now that she is an inside girl, she patiently waits for the unfortunate insect that finds its way into our house. And makes horrible noises at the squirrels on the fence outside. You wish your girls had the number to the florist and I wish mine had thumbs, so she could open the door as I struggle with getting the groceries in.

Posted by: Serena at August 10, 2005 01:55 PM (jU/ey)

4 oh, i just adored this entry helen. i love hearing about your cute kittens. my cats too go bonkers for moths, but since they can't go outside where we live they mostly "hunt" their kitty toys. I have to say that i do feel like a proud momma (and have a good giggle) whenever my sadie comes running down the hall with her muffled meow and deposits the fuzzy toy mouse at my feet. so cute!!

Posted by: kat at August 10, 2005 02:03 PM (9Bhsn)

5 My cats love to chase and torment moths and june bugs, as well. Luckily we have never had a mammalian gift. I think it's only a matter of time, though.....

Posted by: donna at August 10, 2005 02:11 PM (Vg6V5)

6 You are so brave to be sweet to the cats while facing dead mice and moths and who knows what else. I might freak right out and run shrieking... and then the cats would probably just run after me with the dead whatever One of the reasons I am not meant to have cats, I'm afraid. You are lucky to have such a sweet home with the cats and Angus who obviously adore you.

Posted by: Laura GF at August 10, 2005 02:46 PM (gu+y7)

7 My little Percy has had her outside time severely limited, and a bell placed around her neck. I could tolerate the moles, but when she started with birds, I had to take action. My boyfriend is a bird watcher, and it simply wouldn't do. Now she chases grocery store bags, ribbons, and the occasional bug. And of course her dog brother, Spencer.

Posted by: sophie at August 10, 2005 02:55 PM (yZwDD)

8 The gifts would be far more plentiful if you expressed horror. Trust me, for my kitty dideth drop a live mouse down my Flashdance sweatshirt because I was horrified at his previous offers. Nothing says love like live rodents on my naked baps. :-| I love this entry! Phoebe chatters all the time too. I think she likes to hear herself do it. Bel has a stutter, but Phoebe actively chatters like she's on the hunt. She used to do it at the birds, thus scaring all of them away. She's not bright either. I'm constantly getting gifts of pink fuzzy mice deposited on my computer desk while I'm trying to waste time on the internet. But she wants to play fetch. And tell Mumin that you're not into mammals and could she please stick to mosquitos cos they are your favourite. ;-)

Posted by: Ms. Pants at August 10, 2005 03:00 PM (PQfF5)

9 My feline, Percy, has had her outdoor time severely curtailed. I was okay when it was moles, but when she turned to birds, action was required. After all, my boyfriend is a serious bird watcher. She now has a bell, and she is not allowed out at all during spring--when the fledgelings are out. Then she has to settle for chasing grocery bags, ribbons, and the occasional indoor bug. And, of course, her dog brother, Spenccer.

Posted by: sophie at August 10, 2005 03:04 PM (yZwDD)

10 okay, I'm a doofus--I thought my comment ran away!

Posted by: sophie at August 10, 2005 03:05 PM (yZwDD)

11 I guess that's one way to get wide awake after a poor night's sleep. We might have the next great product on our hands. I can just see the ad now: Having problems waking up in the morning? Do showers leave you groggy? Is caffeine way too slow? Are your sleeping pills holding on for dear life? If so, then you need the "Dead Mouse On the Floor". No more lethargic mornings with D-MOF. Comes in 12 pack, econosize 24 pack, or the travel size 3 pack. I think we all see why I didn't go into advertising.

Posted by: Solomon at August 10, 2005 03:38 PM (k1sTy)

12 Loved this entry! Cats are great-one of mine has knocked the screen out of the door at least twice a week trying to catch moths that are on the outside. Another time, my dearly departed Chuck, brought me dead bat. The worst part? He caught it in our basement. Yuck.

Posted by: Teresa at August 10, 2005 10:41 PM (KRSEF)

13 This was a great post! I laughed out loud at least 3 times, thank you!

Posted by: Michael at August 11, 2005 02:13 AM (OEWTU)

14 Oh I so love happy posts like this! Thanks.

Posted by: Marie at August 11, 2005 02:54 PM (PQxWr)

15 Awwww. I love this post! My fat cat is so old and lazy that he doesn't do anything at all anymore. Except we have fleas right now and he won't walk on the carpet so he jumps from table to chair to sofa to table to chair to kitchen counter - anything to avoid the dreaded carpet! If he must cross a room without the aid of furniture, he runs so fast you would think our living room was a lake of hot lava! Ah. Old. Neurotic. Itchy. The fun never ends! =) At least he'll still sit in my lap and purr. Kitties rock.

Posted by: Q at August 12, 2005 12:13 AM (WUM14)

16 ummm...is that a MOLE? Dude, I've never seen one of those. Better than a RAT I suppose. Are these your girls that you waited so long to bring over from Sweden? I love how much you love them.

Posted by: kalisah at August 12, 2005 02:53 AM (C7RFb)

17 Very sweet kitties...love the stories! =^..^=

Posted by: Joce at August 12, 2005 04:35 AM (1DJTO)

18 What kind of creature is that? It is like a mouse with a pointy noise...kind of cute, in a morbid sort of way. Really, what is it?? I have four cats of my own...the antics are amazing to watch and document. Such cheap entertainment. (Your girls are precious, by the way).

Posted by: Dana at August 14, 2005 03:52 AM (cGTvj)

19 The power of spellcheck. That comment should have read, "it has a pointy nose...not noise." Feeble mind, feeble mind...

Posted by: Dana at August 14, 2005 03:53 AM (cGTvj)

20 A wonderful post! My girls bring me little presents too: crickets, moths, moles and last month, a possum. What will they do for an encore?

Posted by: kenju at August 14, 2005 10:13 PM (+AT7Y)

21 Yep. My four cats are the same way... moths, flies.... and the deadly chipmunks. They love them all.

Posted by: sue at August 15, 2005 05:09 PM (WbfZD)

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