The old cat has a psychological prowess. A way of the mind. An uncanny ability to motivate bloodless ends to misdirected mice who find them selves inside this house. And so it is, that I find myself thinking I should feel badly for the mouse who just now went scurrying across my basement floor. Is a breaking of the mind not a far worse torment than claws and teeth? Can she not just crush it’s skull and be done with it? The horror! Yet it is too late for these thoughts, for the game has already begun. See? A calm blankets the old girl. She looks to be napping, but no – she schemes. THE HUNT IS ON.