Obsolescence

'Tis the season...there is a nip in air, the leaves are changing colors (or would be, if that premature blizzard hadn't already knocked them all off...ah, Colorado), and we all move indoors for the winter. And we're not the only ones...
I have unwillingly become the host to several furry and ill-mannered house guests. I say "I" because I am the only one they choose to be close to. Instead of spreading through the walls of the entire house and thereby blessing everyone with their gift of late night sleeplessness, they have chosen to contain themselves only to the walls of my room - particularly to the wall right next to my bed. Aren't they thoughtful? I am under the impression that my wall has actually become the headquarters for a militant group of furry beings - whether mouse or rat, I can't tell (though they are loud enough, one would assume they are large rodents) - who are planning their imminent invasion of the Matson household. I deduce that their first step in the grand plan is to create several tunnels, thereby providing several points of entry - however, only in one convenient, semi-central (kinda) location. And dig they do. Apparently the upcoming invasion will be somewhat akin to a rodent apocalypse, if I am to judge from the vehemence of the digging occurring late at night...in my walls...by my bed...where I generally choose to sleep. Well, they are not the only ones with an agenda for a species invasion. I have an ally (or two) that may just ruin their little rodent plans (and late night digging).

At least, I have an ally (or two) that should ruin their little rodent plans.

I think the only individuals less pleased by our new visitors are the cats. Seems a little odd, right? I mean, talk about the ready availability of food skyrocketing! However, we have a very particular breed of cat. Amongst mountain cat owners, this ferocious breed is known as felis reclinus. This cat generally chooses to hunt by lying silently and waiting for the prey to run, unaware, into the adept hunter's open mouth. Oh, it is a fearsome thing to behold.
Now, let's be clear. I'm not saying that my cats have never caught anything. They have. I have been known to find a disemboweled rodent in the middle of my path, or sometimes Charlie will leave one on our doorstep as a reminder that her plushiness is actually just a disguise for the killer lurking within. However, our cats do have a rather cushy life. Matrix did a wonderful job of ridding us of our rodent population early on, so they now rely more on our supply of dry cat food than on their feline prowess. But when my walls became the groundwork for a massive rodent invasion, I decided it was time they earned their keep.
We started with Charlie (because she is the most gullible). When the weather turns cold, she can be found whining at our door to be let into the nice warm house almost with unfailingly certainty. So, coolly, Mom opened the door and gathered Charlie and her generous girth into her arms and brought the unsuspecting victim to my room...where we promptly opened the crawl space, deposited the cat, and shut her in with nothing but the militant rodents and her know-how to keep her company. She was, as you can imagine, less than thrilled. Nor was she silent about her displeasure. No - that cat can project. And project she did - for most of the night. She gave me a brief respite (which I foolishly thought meant that she was proving her worth as a feline and dispatching those rodent invaders) to allow to me fall asleep. However, I was rudely awakened by yowling in the wee hours of the morning. Stumbling out of bed, I gathered her into my arms, told her none too gently to shut it and that I sincerely hoped she did her job admirably. When we reached the garage, she smirked knowingly at me and sauntered into the darkness, leaving me alone with my hopes.
I soon realized what that smirk meant - not only had she not dispatched the little invaders, but it seemed she bribed them into longer, later, and louder hours. The next night I was sure I would see the emergence of mousekind into my room - so persistent and strong was their digging. I resigned myself to my fate and tried to fall back asleep.
I later found out Mom tried again the next morning, only with Matrix. (Matrix has always had less of an attitude than Charlie.) However, the attempt was unsuccessful. Apparently, he escaped Mom's clutches before even making it to my room...before even making it upstairs. Instead, he ran about in circles in the living room, desperately peering out the windows and howling something fierce. Full of pity, Mom escorted him back outside (once he could be caught) and then we decided to pursue a different course of action - technology. Which, it must be said, has worked magnificently. This has left me with the sad but inescapable realization...

My cats are obsolete.