A cat, a mouse and a chipmunk…

My cat is a killer. For those of you who have a cat, I think you know what I mean. For those who do not own a cat, then I must explain…

We have two cats, one is Coco and the other is Kimmy. Nick named Kimmy as we were taking them home for the very first time, and I helped Meghan name Coco. Actually, I’m being too nice, I named the cat because Meghan doesn’t really give a darn about the cats. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not mean to them, but let’s just say they simply coexist. However, Nick is just like me and loves his cats!

I do love cats and have always felt a special connection to the ones I’ve owned. But I must say I’ve never actually had two cats together like I do now. I had one growing up (Puddy, um, yeah...not my idea!) and then I had one when Nick was a baby, Alley, until she got hit by a car….in front of my face…crossing the busy road that we once lived on….just awful.

Then we got another one—a stray from the wild (or under our porch) and that seemed to have adopted us, so we took him in and named him Sake. (I was addicted to Japanese novels at the time...but the wine isn’t bad either!) But then he, too, got killed by a car…same house, same road…different car, so we moved.

Then we adopted one-year old Coco and Kimmy on the first anniversary of 9/11, and safely live in a family friendly subdivision. We were actually hoping to adopt a kitten at the animal shelter, but when we got there the cat had just given birth to kittens and they were much too small to take (ever see newly born kittens? very small and delicate) and our cats had just been turned in that day from their previous owner (who inherited an elderly father and was allergic to cats) so we took them in. Unfortunately they came to us as outdoor cats, and even though I tried (for three whole seconds) to make them indoor cats, I failed. Now we have snobby and mean Kimmy who wouldn’t be caught dead catching anything that moved about in the wild. But her sister, Coco, is a different story: she’s a cold-blooded killer! Of course I am talking about the quintessential field mice, but I’m also talking birds and baby chipmunks, too! (Oh, those little chippies are so cute; it just kills me to see them dead at my doorstep.) Ugh!

The first time she caught a little chippy (as I like to call them) and brought it back to our door, while crying her I’ve-got-something-delectable-in-my-mouth-for-you-because-I-love-you cry (again, if you own a cat, then you know what I mean), I couldn’t believe it, a poor little chipmunk. And oddly enough it looked just like my cat. My cats are calicos and if you look at a chipmunk, they look the same. I thought, Gee Coco, your killing your own kind! A bit disturbing if you think about it! So while I sat mourning the poor little dead thing, and giving Coco a haunting look, its lifeless little body with it’s twisted little head got up and scurried away. It was so surreal. The chippy that looked dead with a broken neck was simply playing dead from Coco the Killer--and very well too--because it rescued itself.

Hallelujah and a newfound respect for the chipmunk life! Oh, now I’m thinking of Chip and Dale. (Um…the cartoon characters...not the naked men dancers! But, hey, I like the way you think!) But those cute little fellas (I’m still talking chipmunks here) are smart little fellas, and every time Coco’s got a new one, I bring Coco in and rely on the chippy to do its thing and wake up from the dead and dance away into the night!! And unfortunately the success rate is not 100%, but at least the odds are better than the mice have! Yeah, what’s up with that, Jerry!!?

Kimmy and Coco (Coco tired from all the killing!! ;)