You remember Gus, of course. He's the one eyed, brain damaged, slack jawed, drooling, overly matted, schizophrenic cat that we can't get into the house. A couple of years ago, he provided us with an interesting watch-through-the-window show.
We were sitting at the dining room table when I noticed Gus go into cat-stalk mode. He crept along the side of the milkhouse and pounced on something behind a bush. I started screaming, because I thought he had caught a bird. That would have left me with a dead bird, and everyone knows how I feel about that. I began making somev ery unusual noises that combined relief with fresh horror when I saw that what he had was not a bird, but a mouse. This was quite a feat for a cat that can't close his jaw, and therein laid the problem.
Since he couldn't clamp his jaws down to kill it, he found himself with a dilemma. I think even he must have realized that he really beat the odds to just catch it. So, what does a one eyed, slack jawed, schizophrenic cat do with a mouse that he can't kill? He takes it for a ride.
He circled the yard at least ten times with the mouse in his mouth. On his first trip past the dining room windows, we could see the mouse's tail flicking and hear it squealing inwhat we were sure was fear. I was full of the heebie-jeebies and made all kinds of ghastly sounds, myself. Each trip past the window resulted in the mouse being calmer and quieter. We weren't sure that it wasn't actually dead until Gus finally got tired of parading his prize around his domain . At this time, he stopped and released the mouse. It sat there for a second or two looking at Gus, then trotted away, unharmed. Gus watched him leave without issue.
We've often conjectured about the stories he had to tell when he made it back to the mouse hole. Not many mice get to experience a cat ride and live to tell about it.