Earlier today I made the dog's food (holistic kibble, raw carrots, pasta, home made chicken stock) and set it aside to cool. I then grabbed the leftover "meat" loaf I made the other day for dinner and mixed up a goulash for the kids and hubby for dinner. While it simmered, I sat down at the computer to goof off.
For one reason or another I chose to get up from my chair and go into the kitchen to check the dinner. A FUCKING MOUSE was on my STOVE!!!!!!
I saw a flash of furry mouse butt and tail go down into the burner hole as I walked through the kitchen door.
What the hell? I have three freaking' cats for cripes sake?!?!?! I have four dogs in the house at the moment, and one of them is the best damn nutria killer this side of the Mississippi. (Please tell me I am not the only one who spells that in their head just like in grade school, when they type it. MISS...ISS...IPPI.)
So I decided that my fat cats are no longer getting fed cat food until I see them fighting over at least one dead mouse carcass. They are going to drive me nuts with their insistent meowing, but I don't care.
I have made it easier for them to kill by opening the bottom drawer on the oven for them and raising the top of the stove for easy access. All they need to do is do the job God gave them. I never realized just how much I was hampering their natural talents until now. Get to it kittys!
I kinda just want to turn the broiler on after I bait the oven with goodies...but it also makes me kinda gag too. Dilemma.