Bagley

We own a cat. I am not a cat person. It was not my idea to get a cat. But we own a cat.  We named her Bagley, and Dan we got her so she would eat the mice that live in the field behind our house.  Bagley lives in our garage.  The garage smells like kitty litter. Today the girls and I checked on Bagley, and that's when I saw a mouse.  I like cats more than I like mice. I saw the mouse, Caroline saw the mouse, but Bagley did not.  Really? You're a cat, you know, with incredible reflexes, including incredible vision.  Or not. We kept yelling at Bagley to, "Go get the mouse, Bagley!", but Bagley continued to calmly drink from her dish.  Then the mouse crept silently behind the oblivious kitty and sat there, waiting for the strike that never came.  I think it was testing Bagley, and Bagley failed.  Or passed, if you're the mouse, because the mouse kept darting back and forth behind the cat's back, either taunting or celebrating. Maybe both. Bagley then went on to attack a piece of paper laying on the floor. Paper. Not the mouse. So now we have a mouser who doesn't mouse. It will come with time, right? I sure hope so. 'Cause right now I have a mouse and a cat living together in our garage with all of our stuff I have yet to unpack.  That creeps me out.  A little mouse sniffing around my possessions? Ew.

Go get the mouse, Bagley.