The Panther Within.

I'm not in the mood for writing today. In fact, I've been so preoccupied that I nearly forgot it's Friday. I suppose it could be that I've not got used to writing on Fridays, but I think it's more likely the exhaustion wrought by stalking a mouse. I don't often get the excitement of hunting, so when I do, it's difficult to pull myself away.

I'm not sure how long this rodent has been hiding out in our basement. I only go down there when the door is open; and recently I've had to meow incessantly before receiving any response from my humans, so I had sort of given up. Nevertheless, the other day something in the duct work had me peering purrposefully down the air exchange vent in the foyer. It's a shame I can't fake that look because it never fails to convince my human of the need for investigation.

I knew there was something amiss the moment I arrived at the bottom of the steps. Nothing ever smells interesting down there, but this time there was the distinct aroma of mouse droppings. They have a very specific scent that humans don't pick up on straight away; but I smelled it, and after further exploration I spotted them in the far corner, near the water heater. There was a leak in a hose preventing me from getting too close, but I came as near as I could without getting squirted. There was no mistaking the small, brown, elliptical pellets; they were certainly of Muridae origin.

The discovery heightened my senses, and as I wandered toward the gardener's nook, water hissed and sputtered from the puncture in the flexible metal hosing, causing me to jump and fluff my tail. I'm not sure why. I knew the puncture was there, and I'm certainly not afraid of the mouse who'd likely caused it. Still, I was bristled and tingling all over.

My back twitched and my whiskers pointed forward, feeling for any movement in the air ahead. Then, as I prowled in the cool, still darkness, I saw it! There it was; and there was I, and I knew I had to get it! I sprang to action running after it, but it ducked under a bookshelf that hadn't seen a book in years.

One thing about we felines, is that we're patient. Then, purrhaps a better word might be tenacious. I crouched there for hours, waiting for him to move, and just as I had closed my eyes for a quick nap, he darted out and ducked under the rickety old sofa. I took off after him; but my feet slipped on an exceptionally smooth patch of cement, and by the time I'd gained my footing, he'd sneaked off in the direction of some empty bottles and jars. There was a rug nearby, which was good for a nap, so I perched myself upon it and set up sentry.

I'm not sure if he's still in among the basement bric-a-brac; but I gave it my best, and there's always tomorrow. Hopefully he hasn't cleared off by then. I'd really like to find him.

Yours Purringly,
W.C. Humphries II (Mr. Fleez for short.)