At my work they just got two new kittens, Tommy and Tigre, who are cute and mischievous. The crotchety cat matriarch, Raven, is offended by this. So the other day in order to express her displeasure and remind us who is where in the social heirarchy, she went out and caught a chipmunk and brought it into the house. She made it all the way down to the shipping room door with it before getting caught. “Gross! Michael!” comes the shriek, and in I run.
Raven promptly drops the chipmunk, who, never mind injured, is not even fazed by having been rudely captured and carried around by the scruff of the neck like a kitten. He races up the stairs and buries himself in a heap of random picture frames, cardboard boxes and rolled-up rugs.
I get me an empty trash basket and a piece of cardboard and go digging through the pile. For awhile the chipmunk eludes me. Then I pick up one of the rugs. He shoots out the bottom and back down the stairs, with me after him! But he can’t push the door open to get into the shipping room. “I have cornered you, small rodent!” I shout. “What will you do!”
He runs up the wall and leaps. I swing my trash basket and slam the piece of cardboard over it as a lid. I, the human, am victorious! I carry my prize triumphantly down to the kitchen door and release him, traumatized, to live out his life in relative peace and comfort until one of the less merciful cats crosses his path.