But I'm doing it anyway. It's part of life in the country, I suppose. Bertie, our new cat, brought home his first mouse on Monday. We took him in to be an outdoor cat, a mouser. And now he's living up to our expectations.
Although, I must say, he brought this mouse home from the neighbors' yard across the street. Oh well. It's a start. I know from his previous owner that he's a good hunting cat. And now it seems he's started to feel right at home in his new territory.
He and Callie had a slight run-in this morning. She's still not used to the cat being here and wants to chase him. The situation is improving slowly, but very slowly. Callie makes some progress, then she goes after the cat when we're not looking. Bertie takes it in stride, knowing he can run faster than the dog.
I've found out, thanks to Susan (she's as smart as David Attenborough!), that this is not a mouse, but a vole. It would be called a campagnol in French, according to my research. But I've never heard that word used, so I'll have to ask my neighbors what they'd call it. I won't be showing it to them, however.
Les années passent et les vignes repoussent
4 hours ago