And so last night it happened that my primordial, big cat genes bottlerocketed into high art and pancaked me into a tizzy when I first smelled, then caught, a feisty mouse who decided to play possum with me! Heaven’s Betsy, I caught him, released him, he played frozen, then frankensteined into life again. Oh what joy to have a toy to frappe! And is it so wrong? And why did mommy take the mousie away? And did I behave, as Thumby (who narcoplepsied through the event) suggested, something akin to the humans who do bombs? No, I think not. Yes?