The Border is Closed

We have problems with illegal aliens . . . in our home. They are carried across the border against their will by our cat, Taco.

Yesterday we found a chipmunk hopping around our kitchen. He dashed behind our fridge. We heard his tail rattle against the fan blade. Ouch!

We've told Taco to keep his friends outside but he likes to bring them in to show us anyway. He won't listen. Sometimes he'll mournfully meow at the foot of the basement stairs to let us know he has a new friend. Other times he'll carry it upstairs and set it down at our feet in the living room. That's what happened yesterday. Trouble was, the terrified furry ball was playing dead so that Taco would drop him. When Taco did, he was gone in a flash of brown blur.

"That's it. I'm closing the border!" We had made a little door downstairs so that the cats could come and go as they pleased. But ever since we opened the border, all kinds of illegal aliens are crossing into our basement. Sometimes they don't make it past the cat guards we have downstairs, other times they do. I find some of them dead near my table saw or under the ping pong table. I guess their passports weren't up to date.

In any case, I just can't stand the thought of sleeping with these mice and chipmunks. (I saw a mouse scamper across our master bedroom floor several months ago.)

I believe that any animals in the house must carry their own weight. At least the cats catch mice and flies. But we can't provide free access to our house for rodents that don't work for themselves. They'll just eat up my food and drink my water. Then what will I eat and drink?

So I marched down to the cellar and ripped out the plastic door separating our house from the backyard. I yanked the door and the supports right out of the window and locked it shut.

The border is closed.

...dave
You can not look at a sleeping cat and feel tense. -Jane Pauley