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The Lethal Trap

"AAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!" My screams attracted the attention of my Scottish terrier and my tottering 27-year old cat. Mr. Scotty bounced into the room, figuring that noise could only come from someone who was dying to play. Pepe, on the other hand, ambled in feigning total disinterest.

Ripping hand towels and dishcloths from the kitchen drawer, I cringed as each mouse 'jewel' dropped to the floor.

"I don't believe it. We've barely been in here six months and I have the neighborhood Palmetto bugs and mice moving in!" Palmetto bug is the Floridians' genteel way of saying roach - really, really big roach. The largest I've found thus far is about three inches long and wears a crown proudly proclaiming himself Bug King. But back to my other guest.

Under the towel drawer a shelf held extra boxes of cereal. It was obvious my furry fiend had used the shelf and the boxes as his stairway to the rags, where he endeared himself to me by peeing and pooping on every single one. Into the trash they went, for I knew no matter how often I washed them, no matter how much bleach went into the process, the picture of little yellow stains would not go away. The worst part - I'd just bought most of them the day before! This was war!

"You picked a fine time to become old and decrepit," I said to Pepe, who had stretched full length in the middle of the kitchen floor. He was snoring. He's the only cat I've ever met who snores loud enough to rouse me from sleep. My tirade against his aging had no effect on him whatsoever. Having given up mousing but a short year before, he felt he'd done his duty. During the days, he roused from dreams of the hunt only long enough to eat a meal before collapsing back to his current job as stumbling block.

Mr. Scotty, ears pricked high, waited for the next cloth to sail across to the trash can. Each toss earned a leap and snap of huge teeth. If this was the game I wanted to play, he was in. One jump landed his front feet on Pepe's tail, causing the cat to move faster than he had in ages. Spitting with outrage, Pepe smacked the dog square on the nose with open claws. Mr. Scotty, though quite smart normally, took the cat's attention as an invitation to play Herd the Cat. After a minute or two of putting up with the dog, Pepe turned back into super lump, once again postioning himself in the center of my work area.

"Okay, now it's time to catch that miserable little beast," I muttered. "Better still, it's time for Bruce to catch the little beast."

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