My 13 year-old Siamese cat, Chloe, is no mouser. She is so spoiled, she gets a banquet each night of treats, cat food, and water. If she likes what we’re having for dinner, she might also get a paper plate of some of that. Every night, my mouse, Speedy Gonzales, gets up on Chloe’s food table, hops up on the water bowl and drinks and drinks and drinks. Chloe is usually on my lap, and she hears the commotion, but instead of attacking the mouse like a normal cat, she just sits up with her eyes bugging out of her head watching him. She takes no action. Ever. Perhaps that’s because I told her, “If you can’t be a mouser, then you must share your food.”
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