Bought a burrito, went home, sat down with Guitar Hero, fiddled a bit, then went upstairs to read a bit. Around 7:00 I put the book down and rolled over and didn't wake up until 1:30 am.
I was still in my street clothes, my bedside light was still on, and Abbie was on top of my feet looking Very Alert. I think he'd been peacefully snoozing along with me and jumped up suddenly, which then disturbed my slumber as well. He leapt off the bed and into his little hobbit hole. All was silent for a minute or so, then there was one heck of a crash and Abbie came dashing out, victorious, with a mouse in his mouth.
"Attaboy!" I said. "Way to go!" How he heard the mouse all the way over there I don't know, but it amazed me. Then he proceeded to jump up on the bed and drop the mouse at my feet. It began to make a run for it, so he pounced again, grabbed it, and took it to the floor.
"Finish him!" I cheered, all Mortal Kombat-like. The cat dropped the mouse again, who ran underneath some plastic bags. Abbie swatted at the plastic bags with furious smacks of his humongous paws -- wham! wham! wham! -- and out came the mouse, which was promptly flipped up into the air again, then smacked around a few more times before it scampered under something else. Oh but this does not deter our Mighty Hunter, who leapt into the fray, scattering books and some boxes and whatnot in an attempt to git that thar mouse. Realizing that one dead mouse being chewed up is better than one live mouse chewing up stuff, I decided to let Abbie do his thing however noisily and worry the mouse to death. (He's good at worrying his prey. One early spring morning in 1998 I left for work as he and Martha were curiously batting around a slow-witted just-woken-up bumblebee they'd found. Coming home 8 hours later expecting to find a cat with a stinger in its mouth, I actually found them still playing with the bumblebee, which hadn't died just yet. Oh, you lovably sadistic furballs.)
I went downstairs and realized I'd passed out upstairs leaving everything downstairs in a state of On. The burrito was waiting for me, still in its bag. The computer was waiting to log on to World of Warcraft. I even had a glass of scotch on the desk, waiting to be enjoyed. I felt like I'd just come aboard a ship mysteriously abandoned at sea. I reheated the burrito, curled up on the couch, enjoyed my dinner with scotch, and wondered what the neighbors below the bedroom must be thinking as Abbie went about his mighty hunting ways. I went back upstairs around 3:30 to find Abbie still in Prowl Mode, looking near the dresser. No mouse was to be found and he was still in a state of High Alert.
"You didn't get him yet?" I asked. He took a pat on the head but kept to his post. Can't talk; mousing. I crawled back into bed and tucked my head between the pillows to blot out the sound, and drifted off to sleep once more. At 5:30 I woke to hear a scribbling sound along the baseboard under the dresser, and there's Mr. The Cat still in the spot I left him in two hours previously.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked the Zen Master, who does not respond. Oh, please tell me you haven't lost interest in it. You brought the goddamn mouse into my room, pal, you're gonna be the one to remove it. At this point I decided there was no use pretending to sleep because at some point there's gonna be a crash and a bang and a cat with a mouse in its mouth, so I took my shower and wandered back downstairs to do... oh god I don't know, something, anything. Guitar Hero is weird to play when you've just woken up. You need catlike reflexes, man. So did Mr. Lump Of Fur Who's Not Finishing What He Started, I think.
I hope I get home to find a mouse tail sticking out of his mouth.