Wanted

As you probably have figured out by now….I’m a little OCD.

It’s sad I know. I know what you’re thinking….just make it stop. Come on, admit it. You think I should be able to drown out and ignore the noises and messes and tapping-tapping-tapping-TAPPING….oh. Sorry. There I go again.

The quirks (yes, I call them quirks, stop laughing) also manifest themselves in my fear….my one true fear….of mice.

When you come and visit me you will notice an inordinate number of cats hanging around. Or lounging is more like it. Lounging around expecting their food to be served to them on little silver platters in the exact spot where they are standing or they won’t eat it.

But I cater to them. Why? Because they kill the mice. The cats do what I dare not do. They are my heroes.

In the past couple of weeks, two of my sainted kitties have gone on to that great beyond. The place where there are no crazy farmer ladies crying in the corner and begging you to catch the mouse when instead you’d rather be licking your paws.

It has been hard, losing our cats. There have been tears and kitty memorial services. Yesterday, in honor of my champions, we watched “The Aristocrats”. It seemed fitting.

Oddly, we’re now down to two cats. One for the front door and one for the back. This will never do…not with my paralyzing fear of mice. Someone has to guard the barn, the storage building, the guest house and the stable. And if I could have my way…one just for under my bed. To protect me at night.

Because if I see even one mouse around here….I will be forced to move to China and change my name.

But since you never know if a cat’s a good mouser before it lives with you for a year and eats all of your cat food and by then you are stuck with the little moocher….

I think I’ll put a sign in the yard,