A Tale of Two Kitties: The Hunt (2)

I sat down on my bed and plopped my laptop onto, well my lap. I began to Google information about cats and what type of cats are best for mousing. I learned that female cats are the best. Then I did research on what age I would need the cat to be in order for it to come home and do its job as soon as possible. I did not pull up much useful information about the age the cat should be, but my assumptions led me to believe I needed a cat that was at least 6 months old. I also assumed I didn't want an old arthritic cat. After narrowing those options down I had to decide where to get our furever friend. We consulted a few friends and family members who all said "adoption is the loving option."
  With our knowledge on what we needed specifically, we set out to the local humane society. This particular shelter frequently had adoption "deals" and they promised the animal would go home micro-chipped and up to date on shots. The animal would also be already spayed or neutered.  My husband and I grabbed our toddler, who at the time was our only child, and strapped him into his safety seat. We had to drive over 15 miles for our new furever friend and family member so we had plenty of time to chit-chat on the way to the shelter.
  When we arrived at the no-kill animal shelter we were given paperwork to fill out which asked us questions about our living arrangements and whether we rent or own. Finally, after a few minutes worth of paperwork we were directed to a room in the back to meet the cats. A lady with jet black hair, a slender figure, pale skin, and bright eyes showed us to each of the cages.  We were told stories about nearly every cat in the cages
  "This one is deaf,"
  "This one is blind,"
  "He's old but he's a good guy with the kids,"
  "She's a sweetheart, but she's still just a baby so she might be too frisky," et cetera
Finally I said
  "Well as we are hoping to get the cat for a purpose, that is, mousing, we do want someone kind of playful."
She explained that sometimes a feisty cat is a little hard on toddlers. I told her how my toddler is a bit rough, himself. She smiled but still insisted that we might be able to find a mouser in a calmer cat. I was unsure and asked her to show us around to more cats. She said they had a whole top floor of cats as well.  We asked to be shown the attic cats. She showed us cage after cage, most of which had disabilities, a missing eye, a missing leg, a missing tail, or blindness, deafness or some other problem.
  Then, I saw her, Viola the cat. She was beautiful with medium tortoise shell coloring. She was playful but old enough, I figured, to successfully catch a mouse. Her information stated that she was about 3 years old. I pointed to her cage and she playfully pawed at my hand.
  "Can we see her?" I asked.
  "Sure, but she's very feisty, she may be too much for your little man," said the shelter volunteer.
  "Let me see her," I insisted.
  "She has too much fur, she's going to shed everywhere." My husband said, "I don't want a high maintenance cat."
"Actually, medium hair cats do not normally shed as much as people think," the volunteer piped up.
"Aww isn't she beautiful?" I asked my husband.
"She is cute," he sighed and against his better judgment gave in to my whims.
 The shelter volunteer pulled Viola out. She was calmer outside than in but she still had a little fire to her. I assumed that the edge may come off if she had a forever family to come home to. My husband petted her and then my son. We agreed to take her home. We finalized the rest of the paperwork for beautiful Viola and she was ready to go.  Her adoption fee for that day was only 9 dollars. The volunteers caged her up and handed her to us. We set off for home, trying to maintain a steady and comfortable speed for our new friend because by her cries, we could tell she was terrified already.
That first night was a nightmare. I was already reconsidering our adoption. She was darting underneath the couch and running into the fireplace with frenzy. She even knocked over our tree because she was just on fire. She was not a people cat, she didn't really enjoy being petted, held or sitting still. In my mind I called her a meth cat. She was just too much. The next day was just as bad as the first day and she struck my eldest son on the face without just cause. When my children are being disrespectful, violent or rude I am not one to hide it and act as if they could do no wrong. I had been watching what he was doing and he was nowhere near the cat. She just ran toward him stood up and slapped him.
  I returned to Petfinder.com and called the shelter we'd gotten Viola from to ask for advice. Everything they suggested failed. They reminded me, specifically that I had been told what kind of animal Viola really was. So, regrettably, we brought her back. While there they offered us an even trade. We could get any other cat in the shelter with no additional fees. 

A Tale of Two Kitties: The Mice- Part 1

It was Christmastime 2010. I was wrapping presents for my firstborn and my stepson in our living room . The tree was decorated and stockings were all hung on the mantel. However, we had no fire to speak of. It was just a gas fireplace that was never lit.
As I am sitting on the couch wrapping a small present, and chatting on the phone with my mom I see a mouse scurry across the floor, run between my feet and hide under the couch. I screamed and told my mother I'd have to call back later that I had seen a mouse and needed my husband to come home to protect me. I punched in my husband's cellphone number and heard it ringing. After the third or fourth ring, I heard his voice.
  "Come home and kill this mouse!" I said into the receiver
  "You're crazy,"  my husband replied, "I am not leaving band practice to kill no mouse!"
  "Its a huge mouse!" I said "Its the size of Manhattan."
  "It is not," he retorted, "Its just a field mouse, Dad gets them every winter"
  "Please?" I begged, putting on my damsel in distress voice. He didn't buy it one bit.
  "I'll kill it when I get home," he said. With that, our conversation was over. I was still shaken so I grabbed my son and retreated to our attic bedroom. I flopped my son and myself onto the couch, pulled my feet up to a safe distance, and flipped on the television. My hero would not be coming to my rescue this time. I just had to be the coward I was born to be. After my son fell asleep I grabbed my laptop and began to research the best way to get rid of mice. I had seen one and I've been told if you see one mouse you've got a dozen at least. I had seen a few sites that suggested humane trapping, regular snap the neck mouse traps, poisons, and one site suggested cats.
  When researching the poisons, as much as I hate mice, I didn't like the way they kill the mice. So I said no exterminators, no poisons. That left me with a few options; regular snap-traps, humane traps, and cats. In my mind a humane trap would be okay except that I was thinking more would find their way in. Field mice were an annual problem according to my husband so humanely trapping some and moving them to an area far away didn't seem like a permanent solution. Sure I could humanely remove these mice but what happens when I make room? New ones find opportunity in that.
  That left me with only a couple of other options, according to my Google "research". Snap-traps that break the mouse's neck, and a cat. Someone else suggested to me that I buy some of that glue paper. The problem, again with that is that the mouse suffers needlessly, because it dies by starving to death on a piece of sticky paper. So, I narrowed my options to the snap traps. The mouse is killed quickly without much ado and no needless suffering. Also, I figured, no arguments over who cleans the litter box.
  When my husband returned that evening I told him what my research had turned up. He said he'd go out and get mouse traps from the local dollar store in the morning when they reopened. The next morning came and my husband's procrastination kicked in . He didn't actually go and buy the traps until sometime mid-afternoon that day.
  "Would you hop to it before the man-eating mouse comes out from hiding?" I nagged.
  "Fine, fine," he said, scooping up his tennis shoes. With that he was out the door. After some time he returned and showed me the traps. He had ignored my request that all the devices be something that kill the mice quickly and had purchased a few glue traps. I shook my head but reached for the bag and began sorting through the traps,popping them open, and reading the directions. I decided to put peanut butter on the bait pedal.
  I set about half a dozen traps in all of the areas of the house that I knew mice were hanging out. I put one behind our couch, one between the refrigerator and the wall, one under the stove, and about three in various cabinets where food was stored. We went about our daily routines, and as night fell a sense of relief washed over me. We'd be mouse free.
  After we had caught about a dozen mice in a week's time I started getting frustrated. I was throwing away mice corpses several times a week, and yet, I kept seeing the vermin everywhere. It was so bad I was becoming accustomed to interaction with them. At first when they would  run out from under a cabinet or a piece of furniture  my heart would leap out of my chest, run circles around my Christmas tree, and pop back in. Soon, though, my heart was staying inside of my chest cavity and it would only pick up pace occasionally, like when my eyes spotted a pregnant mama mouse.
  I still was anti poison, for whatever reason I didn't want to see the creatures die a death that would cause them long term suffering. I decided it was back to the old drawing board if I was going to keep my sanity intact. So I went to my trusty friend, Google.com and began looking up the word "mouser" which I knew was the term that roughly defined cats who can catch mice. Although it can be applied to any animal that catches mice, I knew what I was looking for.