If there was ever an arguement not declaw your cat, this would be it. I didn't declaw Peppe, it's just the way he came from the shelter.
I came home from work today around 6:00 p.m., and Peppe, as usual, was at the door, eager to greet me. I then turned the corner and saw this guy cowering in a corner.
Let's rewind: last night when I was reading I heard a clanging in the kitchen. Peppe was swatting a mouse by the oven, but since he doesn't have any claws the mouse got away. For the rest of the night and through most of the morning Peppe sat in front of the oven, waiting for the mouse to come out again.
Apparently the mouse did come out and it seemed like Peppe killed it, since this was the scene when I got home.
Since I thought the mouse was dead, I went to get a bag to put it in so I could toss it in the trash room. Little did I know Stuart Little was just playing dead, because no sooner did I I go looking for a bag did Round Two between Peppe and the mouse break out.
The mouse was smaller and spryer than Pep, and quickly dashed back under the dishwasher. For the past two hours Peppe has been sititng like this, waiting for it to come out again.
Now, if Peppe had just had some claws, he could have killed the mouse and had a little trophy, just like a normal cat.