We Bring 'em Back Alive! (A mouse a Day Helps You Work, Rest and Play!)

It was a normal Saturday morning, or so the humans thought. We'd had our nums and were just idling about, licking the odd paw, wandering and sitting in random spots, basically deciding where to have a morning snooze. You need to do a survey of possibilities based on the warmest spots which, in itself depends upon whether there are any sunny places or, come a dull day, near the hottest throbbing radiator. Being a Saturday, the humans were off to a slow start. They need at least two cups of tea and one of coffee before they'll even get dressed. They were soon to be prodded out of their doziness!
One was gazing sleepily out of the kitchen window and the other playing spider solitaire on the computer (Tut, and they think staring at a blank wall is dull!). Cup of tea number two was slowly soaking in when, all of a sudden, there was a shriek from Mrs! A mouse, which Millhouse had plopped through the flatcap sometime before and which we pusses had completely forgotten about, boldly scurried past Mrs's foot and off into a corner. Slightly affronted by Mister's unceremonious ejection of the ex-mouse yesterday, Millhouse had brought in a live offering last night for future entertainment. He thought it promised a fresher meal for later on. And, of course, would be more fun for us with the prospect of a chase around the house -Steve McQueen style.
For the humans a live mouse in the house presents a dilemma involving a life or death situation. For, totally incomprehensibly to us, they firstly tried to catch the tough little feller -I'll swear he had a tattoo on his shoulder,- but he was too quick. Under the washing machine, then across to the freezer he bobbled. Mister was rather pathetically tracking him with an empty Utterly Butterly tub. What did he think that would achieve! Hopeless at hunting!
The second line of action was evidently to be the setting of mouse traps. I think this would have involved a forthcoming death. They were hurriedly extricated from the cupboard but, just as the cheese was being chopped to mouse-mouth size, old mousey brazenly waddled across to the back door. He was obviously a wise old fellah and rather resembled a Mars bar with legs I thought. Whether we'd brought him in before and he knew his way around, I don't know, but he seemed to know what he was about just now.
Mister spotted him and scrabbled for the back door keys. Quick! Unlock the door! And after some frantic jingling of keys, the door was swung wide. Mousey slipped over the step and, busily muttering disgruntledly (or perhaps 'gruntledly')under his breath, headed out across the patio. He turned sharp left at the bird bath, under the hedge and shuffled into the darkness of dead leaves.
You may be surprised to learn that neither Millhouse nor I took any interest in this little drama. We'd already established our snoozing posts for the morning and were in the land of fantasy chasing our own walking Mars bars. I expect Millhouse will be looking for his fresh snack when he wakes up. He truly reckons the phrase should read a (live) mouse a day helps you work, rest and play!

Herky