“You Got This Bro?” – The Tale of a Useless Cat

Last night I put Mini-Me down in his crib for bed and he immediately woke back up from the slumber he had been in from the rocking chair. Being tired myself, I laid with him on the futon until he fell asleep again. I lounged there with my son and my netflix, relaxing for a while.

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom opened and my wife was waving at me frantically. I wondered if maybe there wasn’t a fire call coming in over the scanner, or something to that effect. Whatever it was, it was important, so I carefully lowered Mini-Me back into his crib. Thankfully, he stayed this time.

When I came into the living room I found my wife.

Standing on a chair.

“There’s a mouse.”


source: wikimedia, google images

We’d been hearing signs of the little fellow for a while and had even set some traps with no luck. Last night though, he apparently fled from the kitchen area and into the living room.

Cue Snack and Hobbes. Our two wonder cats. When we had first moved into the house, the only things that had been living there were the mice, and for a while, the two mighty hunters were doing their job and eliminating them until there were no more.

Well, the lessons of the past must have been forgotten, because they failed hardcore last night, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

Based on the intent stares and twitching tails of the two cats, it was obvious to me that Mickey had run under the couch. I grabbed my flashlight and lamented not having a BB gun on hand. I shined the light under the sofa and found him. In a flash of intelligence, I slid the couch away from the wall a bit to let the cats be able to move back there, hopefully upping their chances of catching it.

Now, before I continue- I need to make a note of something. When briefing me from atop the chair on the situation, my wife made sure to comment to me that this mouse was bigger than usual. How she is so acquainted with the ‘usual’ size of mice is quite beyond me, but the way she described him, I fully expected my flashlight beam to illuminate something akin to a furry twinkie. Or perhaps even Splinter the rat. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the demon rodent that she had seen was in actuality, no more bigger or scarier than any other mouse I have had the pleasure of coming into contact with.

Frightened women tend to exaggerate almost as badly as men who hunt and fish.



To my wife’s credit, while I had Mickey cornered, she hopped off the chair long enough to scoop armfuls of the kids’ toys off of the floor.
My plan to move the couch to give killers #1 and 2 a chance to finish off the beast was in vain. Dim and Wit did little more than circle the couch with twitching tails leaving me to come up with a new plan.

Enter the asp.

No- not the snake, calm down.

This thing.

The collapsible baton that you see cops everywhere carrying. Useful as visual deterrents, physical deterrents, or opening the random coconut from the grocery store. (This is literally all that I’ve used mine for to date)

I hated to do it, but I knew that it was literally him or me. If he managed to escape unscathed, both of the useless cats as well as myself would have been packing bindles for our boxcar trip into hobodom, and my wife would have been in the market for a creature more useful in eliminating threats from her home.

I tried to get clever and flush him out, but the little fink was quick. He darted out from under the couch, through a maze of toys that had not yet been picked up, dodged a clumsy swing of the baton from me, and dove under the love seat.

Snack and Hobbes watched this with excitement, so I thought their chase would be on again.


A moment of two later, Mickey fled from under the love seat and tried to get back into the kitchen. Hobbes chased after him and cornered him.

“AH HA!” I say to myself, thinking that the cat would finally become useful beyond binge eating and barfing on the bath mats.

Again, nope.

Instead of following his instincts, the cat ceased his chase and looked at me as if to say “You got this bro?” I swore at the cat and finished poor mickey off with a gruesome game of whack-a-mole.

Problem solved.

However, now that the cats have witnessed me being able to do their jobs, I am afraid that they will completely devolve into a domesticated uselessness, perpetuating the cycle of eat, sleep, poop, hide from kids….and nothing at all more.

As for me, I’m trying to figure out if “cat substitute” is an acceptable addendum to the resume.

That’s all for now. Big interview happens tomorrow, and my paperwork is not yet complete. I am surprisingly calm about it all, although I suspect that tonight will be a different matter.

Come back soon and find out how we did tomorrow.



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