There’s never a dull moment in our home.

Events happen here that don’t seem to

happen anywhere else. One of those came to fruition in the wee hours of Sunday
morning. This is the story of those events.

You’ll need some background information to fully appreciate this tale. My home was built in
1896 and I share it with my two sons, my significant other, two indoor cats and a small colony of
quasi-feral cats that live outdoors in their elevated, insulated, and baffled from the wind,
condominium. They’re provided three meals per day and they repay us with an almost unlimited
amount of love and amusement. They’re semi-retired and they hunt for recreation, but they
eliminate so many mice that even my neighbors love the kids.

Indoors we have Clarence, who’s thirteen years old and who’s the world’s best mouser but lately
he’s suffered from a motivational problem that results from his newly-found political leanings.
Wainbow, my female Tortoiseshell, who’s four, isn’t nearly as skilled as her older uncle and
probably never will be. You do your best to raise them to be responsible, productive members
of puddy-tat society but one televised Bernie Sanders rally and they’re full-blown Socialists and
completely immersed in every aspect of Cracker-Jack economics. They’ve learned the meaning
of “entitlement.” I don’t believe there’s any going back from here.

On occasion we have a mouse or two enter our home and they’re sometimes dispatched by one
of the cats but, more often than not, I catch them in a trap. A few days ago, I was up late, and I
heard mouse activity in the vicinity of my kitchen stove. I set a half-dozen traps and started
checking my trap line frequently, to no avail. Two nights ago, the mouse-generated commotion
was measurably louder than I’d ever heard before and, intermittently, I noticed what sounded
like a mouse chewing something. All the traps were without bait or victims, so I baited them yet
again and went to bed.

Very early Sunday morning I heard something I couldn’t identify coming from the direction of the
kitchen. When I got up to use the bathroom and get a drink I began investigating. I swear it
sounded like there was a herd of crazed rhinoceroses charging around under my stove. I
dragged poor Charley out of bed and asked him what he thought was going on. His guess was
a soccer game between two teams of mice wearing steel-toed sneakers. We looked at each
other and said, in unison, “Time to yank the stove out.”

Time for more background information. About a year and a half ago I had a long talk, with my
Veterinarian, about Wainbow, my Tortoiseshell cat. I was convinced she was mentally ill and
probably possessed. One second she would be normal and the next she’d tear out of the room,
full speed, and then avoid that room for a week or so or cower every time she entered the room.
Other times she would get bossy, OK, bossier than usual. She was convinced she was the sole
determination of bedtime.

The Vet listened to all this and a lot more and then asked about a few more behaviors and I had
to admit Wainbow exhibited more than half of them. She told me Torties were more different on
the inside than they were on the outside and that mine was actually rather mild. She sold me a
bag of Solliquin® which is billed as a “behavioral health supplement that helps support balanced
behavior and relaxation.” I use a lot of drugs for back pain, but I try to do better by my pets. I
wasn’t really sold on drugging my little girl, but I did have to admit she seemed much happier
and much more relaxed. The next time I was in the area I picked up another package because
it’s who I am; I buy extras in case I forget…

I only gave Wainbow a half of a Solliquin® chewable, as needed, and a few days ago I went to
get one and couldn’t find the bag. It had been nearly empty when I’d last seen it, so it was no
big deal. Things come up missing quite regularly around here. I opened the new package and
thought nothing of it.

Back to Charley and I pulling the stove out in the middle of the night. It was remarkably clean
behind and under the stove and there was only one thing that was unusual; the almost empty
bag of Solliquin®. Closer examination revealed that one entire corner of the bag was missing
and there two half-eaten chewables beside the bag and one, more than half eaten, still in the
bag.

Charley looked at me and burst out laughing. “The little guys were raising Hell under the stove
because they were stoned out of their ever-loving gourds,” he concluded. We re-set the traps
and caught two mice during the day today. It’s well past midnight right now and it’s dead quiet.
The soccer team’s been buried at sea and all is well.

A half of a chewable mellows out an eight-pound cat for most of the day. Two mice, in two
days, ate enough Solliquin® to tranquilize a cat for three days. According to livescience.com
the average mouse weighs between one-half and a full ounce. It’s no wonder those little guys
were ready to take back stuff they never stole.

A pdf copy of this article may be downloaded here.