And yes, LOTR nerds, say it fast and Paws o' Doom becomes Khazad-dum.
Unlike Little Mo, our 17 pounder (Maine Coon x raccon), Nicholas actually has lethal paws... Paws of Doom we say. Once we gets off the couch he's a a skilled hunter, descended from a long line of feral cats and possibly from the most feared of all barncats, Dragon himself.
We know when a foolish field mouse has come into the house when I walk into the kitchen and see cats butts lined up along the cupboards, and the cats staring murderously under the sink. All except for Peeper who thinks mice are gross.
The other night Nicholas was in a pounce pose when, like grey lightening, he struck...and grabbed a mouse from under the dishwasher. In one fell swoop he struck his target with his mammoth mouse-stompers, and his victim was his mouth in a wink of my eye.
And I was instantly up on the couch shrieking at The Big Man to save Nicholas from that mouse. Mind you, that mouse had the raw end of that deal.
Talk to the paw, mice.
Now friends, you know I'm pretty stout. I don't flinch, I don't back down, and I certainly don't run from a fight... unless its a mouse. I know. I know. It's lame. But there is just something about a mouse in the house that freaks me out. Yikes!
The Big Man scooped up Nicholas, and his prey, and took the whole shootin' match outside. He returned a bit later swearing that he had gotten the mouse out of Nicholas' mouth. So he says. But I could have sworn that I saw Nicholas later that night patting his belly contentedly. I'm never kissing him again just to be sure.
At this writing there are 4 fuzzy bottoms lined up along the under-the-sink-cupboard... There will be blood tonight! And a certain amount of screming by me, for sure.
Happy Wednesday everyone - are you all ready for the storm? We are fixin' to get a pounding. Again.