Just the other day, Sweet Husband looked at Moe--conked out on the couch--and remarked, "Moe-moe, you're starting to act old."
And, of course, I make sure he feels guilty about every trace of mouse "evidence" I find. "In your younger days, we never had to set traps, Mr. Moses," I scold, as he hangs his head.
Tonight, though, Mr. Moe evidently decided to prove that he still has some spring.
I was standing in the kitchen, when all of a sudden he slammed under our step-stool.
"What the...." I exclaimed as I turned to look. Then I let out just a tiny little shriek.
Moe was so surprised at the noise that he dropped the mouse he had just caught. But the mouse was too stunned to get away, and Moe scooped him right back up and ran. (I think he thought I was going to take his prize away.)
The mouse slipped out once more, Moe caught him again. And so on, about 3 or 4 times, as I stood there wringing my hands like a ninny.
Eventually, Sweet Husband came downstairs to see what the hullabaloo was about. He sensibly opened the back door, and Moe rushed out to enjoy...well, whatever there is to enjoy about having a mouse in your mouth, out-of-doors.
When Moe finished, he politely scratched to be let back in, accepted a few congratulatory pats, then immediately retired to his bed. He's not the young whipper-snapper he used to be; the excitement tired him out. But, if he was trying to prove that he's still got it, he certainly made his point.