It's late in the evening, an anguished yet curiously muffled “mrowr” can be heard. It's not the usual furry suspect either, so what's going on?
Oh. It's HER. She found mouse, dammit.
When mouse first arrived, it was pretty – red felt body, little green ears, dark yarn for a tail. Catnipped, of course.
A year down the road, it's been rubbed, body-checked, drooled on, stuffed under the oven, and now has no resemblance to a mouse, cute or not. And we can't throw it out. She finds it. She wanders with it in her mouth, yowling, late at night.