We thought our cat problems were behind us. We thought we had licked our paws clean of mangy, unwanted house pets, nay, squatters, but something last week sent my strangely low blood pressure to a pulsating, normal heart-rate and that only happens when I’m in the Doctor’s office moments from fainting over a muffled, across-the-hall-discussion of a needle.

We noticed a headless, dead (obviously) mouse on our front porch. Hmmm.

People suggest cats leave mice around as gifts. Yes, I have heard this numerous times but why headless and why us?

I called downstairs to our resident headless mouse flinger and announced the need for a clean-up on aisle porch so as not to alert and devastate the Mickey loving children.

Then yesterday, I watched with delight as two small painted turtles made their way up the backyard towards the swamp across the field, a ritual that sealed the deal on putting an offer on this house. Actually, that’s a lie, we didn’t know about the turtle thing until at least a year here but it certainly has endeared us to this community. I glanced at our front porch and once again lay the remains of a cold, hard, headless, mouse.

I’m not so naive to think Hornsour, the homeless squatter cat was unable to find her way back here after operation “dump that cat somewhere else,” instead, I’m more concerned (and I don’t want to alarm anyone)we might be dealing with a serial.