I am feeling a little triumphant today, even if it is Sunday, a day of rest. In the wee hours when all was quiet, I heard a sound all too familiar this time of year: the sound of intruders on little feet, venturing where they think a church cat is too much the reverend to give in to baser instincts.
A cat is still a cat, even if he's wearing a roman flea collar and this little guy was toast before you could say Hail Mary. I did ask myself what I was doing after the first pounce, but for him, that's all it took. I gave him his last rites and left him for the priests to find this morning.
"Well, well, well," I heard coming from the bathroom.
"I'm proud of you, Tom. We don't want them getting in and chewing things up in the rectory," said Will.
No we don't, I thought.
The beauty of this is, with one trophy, nobody'll be too concerned about the mice. The little critters will get the word, smell me and high-tail it somewhere else. Maybe over to the condos. For those of you who don't know, the condos are located in what used to be the parish school. You might remember Vinny lives over there.
I better remind him to sharpen his mouse-catching skills!