There is a comedian who I've heard in the mornings on a 'Comedy Drop' by the local radio station. He states that the best day of his elementary school was the day that the janitor threw the tennis balls down from the roof. I can imagine a multitude of school children waiting to play with this deluge of yellow balls, hoping that they at least get one to replace the three or four they'd lost that year.

Last night was that night for my kittencat.

During the day, he stays in my bookroom. This is a precautionary measure - we don't have a proper porch, so if he decided to run out and meet us, he could end up outside. We don't want that - not even once - so during the day he stays in a room. There is a couch in there where he often sleeps (especially on nights where D. and I fight over the blankets in our sleep), bookshelves where he jumps, a window to watch the crows and everything he needs.

We give him toy mice. They are little and furry. He bats them around the house like a World Cup soccer player, throwing them and chasing them. He also discards them and walks away, presumably to make it think he's done with it. He then doubles back and pounces on it. It's cute. Very cute.

Problem is, we give him an average of one a week. Maybe less. More two a month. And occasionally we'll find them in shoes we don't wear that often or caught up in something in the kitchen. We know there are some under the stove and the fridge.

Last night, D. saw Ollie digging under the couch in the bookroom. He called me in and we lifted it up. We then removed sixteen toy mice from there. They were all makes and designs, from the dual colour ones we could get for a while to pastels that come in a pack of nine. We gave them all to him and he did not know what to do with them. So we left them in a pile on his sleeping bed, sixteen mice nuzzled together.

This morning, five were on the sleeping bed, five around the room. I suspect next year, when we lift the couch again we'll find the rest. Just like tennis balls, mice have a way of making themselves unattainable.

Ollie doesn't mind. He knows he's spoiled. There's more mice where they came from. So for now, he can dream his soccer dreams and remember the day that the parents lifted the couch.

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