Today when I was out in the yard with the cat, he finally managed to catch the small ground squirrel that’s been living under our front porch. The cat was enormously pleased with himself, since this squirrel has been mocking him for weeks. And he immediately trotted up to the front door with it in his mouth, and wanted to be let in so he could play with it inside. I informed him that, sorry dude, but dead squirrels are outside toys.
Undaunted, he went around to the garage and in through the open garage door and up to the step that led to the kitchen door. Once again, he looked eagerly up at me, hoping my opposable thumbs would grant his desire to bring it into the house. But I informed him that dead squirrels were still outside toys. He looked a bit morose, but finally left it on the welcome mat and walked away.
I thought about leaving the squirrel on the welcome mat until E came home — after all, what says “welcome home” better than a dead rodent? And I thought about taking a photo and posting it here — after all, what’s more exciting than reading your run-of-the-mill lesbian cat-owner parenting blog and encountering a photo of a dead furry critter?
But I decided to do the mature thing and just heave it out onto the compost pile instead.
(Note: Compost pile = assortment of tree prunings, leaves, food scraps, cat prey, cat litter, scrap lumber, and anything else that will decompose if left to its own devices. We don’t actually spread it on any garden later. But “compost pile” sounds better than “rotting waste heap.”)