We've heard reports from other tenants in our building that mice are still being spotted occasionally... and apparently enough time has passed since Mister Gato's last pogrom that new generations of mice have been born who never heard stories of his Reign of Terror.
The little critters are getting bold again. Or suicidal. Or something. Gato takes border security very seriously, and amnesty is not on the table for discussion.
In recent days, we've noticed Mister G making quick, stabbing dives in the general vicinity of the stove. Haven't witnessed him catch anything (yet), but we know damn well what that intensity and focus means: he just went back to Active Duty.
So we decided to give him a hand: Carrie removed a cabinet door and cleared out a space to give the Mousinator better access to the probable ingress and egress locations for the meeces, whom we all collectively hate to pieces. (Yeah, I know that the pipes and the floor look pretty grotty, but it's a mostly-unrenovated building built in 1902; you'd look crappy at 104, too!)
Come out, come out, my little mouse tartare.
I will draw you from the walls with the power of my mind.
He has pretty much been sitting in the Mouse Cabinet since we made it accessible. We're going to have to forward his mail.
On Friday, be sure to visit The Modulator's Friday Ark to see pictures of other bloggers' pets; this Sunday, the Carnival of the Cats is at IMAO.