3:30 a.m. Pounce Parade

"Prrrrrrowl?"

"Prrrrrrrowwl??" 

"Prrrrrrrrrowwwl??"

My eyes open.

"Prrrrrrowl?"

Why am I even surprised? Lola had been staring at the bottom of the refrigerator when we went to bed.

"Prrrrrrrrrrrowl?"

That's the sound of a cat with its mouth full of mouse.

Bat. 

Bat-Bat. 

Bat-Bat-Bat-Bat. 

And that is the sound of a cat playing with a mouse. On our bedroom carpet. At 3:30 a.m. I look down beside the bed. She's still batting at      And it just ran under the closet curtain.

Crap. Live mouse. Time to distract a cat. I leave the bed.

"Good girl Lola. Good girl. You are a such a great predator. We are very proud of you, but now it is time to    "

Mouse runs out from under the curtain.

Bat-Bat-Bat-Bat.

Mouse runs under the blanket box. Lola seems stymied. 

I crawl back into bed. 

Please, stay under the blanket box little guy. Wait it out. Hide there and then you can... eventually escape to the basement. I am delusional. It will probably die of heart failure, under that blanket box then two days from now, I will move the blanket box and give it a proper burial.

Bat-Bat. 

Bat-Bat-Bat-Bat. 

Crap. I'm going to have to    

"Prrrrrrrrowl?" Pah.

And that is the sound of a cat spitting out a mouse. I peer over the side of the bed. Even in the middle-of-the-night light I can see Lola gesturing to me. "See? See what I did for you here? I got it! You no longer have to worry about that mouse. I have kept you all safe... from that mouse."

"Good cat Lola." I keep my voice modulated in a sing-song-proud-of-your-accomplishment tone. "I know. I know you are a cat and this in your DNA. I recognize that this is what you do, but you are a serial killer, dude." Easily a dozen mice have been killed in this very room. Because why would she kill them in the living room? Or the kitchen? She has to SHOW us that she's killed them. In the middle of the night. 

I look down at the poor wee little booger. Lola continues to gesture proudly. "Yeah, yeah... You're brilliant."

I grab a tissue. I make the same walk that I do every few weeks down the stairs, through the kitchen to the back door and I deposit the mouse onto the deck. I don't do mouse burials until morning. "Sorry, buddy. I'm sure you were a lovely rodent."

Lola has followed me downstairs. "Prrrrrrrrrowl?"

"If I started making you write their eulogies would it be any sort of a deterrent?"

"Prrrrrrowl."

"No, yeah... you're right. You're a cat."

David cracks an eye open when I crawl back into bed. "Huh? What?"

"Go back to sleep. Lola gave us another mouse."

"Another one?" 

"Yep." And now all I can see is Lola, piloting a fighter plane with dozen rodents stenciled on the side.

"Prrrrrrrrrowl?"

Oh for the love of