Furry little animals are my favorite gifts.
Last night, Simba brought me a present. He’d caught his first mouse and was excitedly meowing with every step. Unfortunately I didn’t know what Simba’s calls meant until it was too late.
Proudly, Simba dropped the mouse at my feet and waited to be praised. Only when the mouse ran toward me, I went the other way.
Undaunted, Simba recaptured the mouse and followed me into the next room. Maybe he thought I needed to learn to hunt. He was calling me the way mother cats call their babies.
Which is how we ended up playing cat and mouse.
Patiently, Simba again dropped his mouse, making encouraging chirps and looking at me hopefully.
Simba was proud of his catch. His eyes gleamed. He looked fierce, like his name. But still, he was giving the mouse to me.
I swept the mouse outside with a broom.
Simba ran out the dog door.
I like to think the mouse escaped and found his way back to the barn. And that the little mouse had a glorious reunion with his family.
But, this morning, I didn’t kiss Simba.
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