About 7 years ago, in our Yonkers apartment, I awoke in the early morning to Seamus playing with a toy. It kept making the most peculiar sound. Pad...pad...pad...Squee! Pad...pad...pad...Squee!
I realized, in my half-asleep state, that we didn't own a toy that made that noise. My eyelids flew open, I sat up to see Seamus playing with a baby mouse. He dropped it. It would scurry away. He padded after it, picked it up by the scruff of its neck, and it would squeak.
I elbowed Alec who retrieved a plastic container to capture little Mickey, and freed him outside.
This morning around 5 AM, I sat in our bed feeding Lindsay. Seamus came into our dark room and meowed loudly about a dozen times before hopping up on the bed, dropping and recapturing his prey. I stood up quickly.
"Alec, Seamus has brought you a present!" I hollered.
He turned on the light to discover our geriatric cat had brought a freshly killed pipe cleaner, and was presenting it proudly. It was lying unsuspectingly on the table, leftover from an art project that Auntie Jules and Lauren were working on.
"Good boy, Seamus," Alec said, putting the pipe cleaner away in his nightstand.