Elvis has left the building, and Paws has abandoned the bedroom.
Paws is our 16-year-old tuxedo cat. She thinks she was put on this earth solely to pose on the back of the den chair until someone walks by, scratches the top of her head and tells her how pretty she is -- and -- to turn her nose up at the first dinner offering, no matter what it is. Now she is refusing to go in the bedroom.
For years she slept in the bed, sometimes under the cover, frequently stretching across half of the available space, but a week ago she left and refuses to go back.
It took us a while to figure out what is wrong. She would stand outside the door, look at the ceiling, and howl. She finally communicated to us.
She abandoned the room at the same time evidence of a mouse family showed up.
At first one would assume that the mouse family showed up after the cat left, but this is not the case.
It appears the mice would come out at night and interrupt the cat’s sleep; so she just moved to another room.
Now the BOH is setting out all kinds of “cat safe” mousetraps. She is afraid that if she does not get rid of the mice, the cat will move out of the house entirely. Fat chance.
The Boss of the House is also considering a temporary visit from LuLu, the grandson’s young cat who loves to chase small squirrels and the like. The problem is that the last time LuLu visited our house she caused Ears, the old male cat, to have a stroke, from which he never recovered.
I told her that was before ObamaCare. Cats probably get better care now.
I think somewhere in one of his speeches the President promised: “If you like your cat, you can keep it.”