Archie and the Kitchen Mice

Next to Archie’s food bowl is a mouse trap. It’s actually directly in front his bowl and the bottom of the cupboard. While he munches on his Dad’s Dry he can keep an eye on the trap. The trap’s there because Archie doesn’t seem to be able to fulfill his duties as a house cat. He stubbornly rejects hunting. I know he’s seen the mice who eat his food. He’s watched them stuff the kibble into their cheeks to nibble on later.

When Archie was allowed in the cellar, he caught the wild mice, lots of them. That was before the chickens came to roost in his space and his universe got smaller and smaller. Locked out of rooms and hidey holes, he's gotten lazy and indolent and yes, surly. He could catch a mouse, but he isn't going to, damn it.

I like Archie. He’s beautiful but he’s distant. He a “near” cat, not a “on” cat. He’ll rub your leg, meow loudly in your direction when he feels particularly ignored or mistreated in some way, but otherwise, he wants to be left alone to sleep and watch windows. Don’t try to pick him up; he's very protective of his personal space. I like hold him and smoosh my face into his soft neck fur. He’ll tolerate it for a second or two. My parents warn me not to do it. Put him down, they say. He doesn’t like it when you do that. Oh, he loves it, I assure them, as he tenses in my arms. I know I’m playing with fire, but I like walking the line. Would Archie actually strike me? He hasn’t yet, but he allows me shorter and shorter snuggles. His patience waning with the light this time of year. On Saturday I tried to hold him and he resisted almost immediately.

Archie’s gone all lame duck, just like our current Congress. Maybe when the light returns in the new year he’ll summon the energy to hunt again. In the meantime he keeps on eye on his food bowl and my mother empties the mouse trap.