Goldie has almost no interest in crepuscular play time now. It was how we bonded for months, and now, I dangle all manner of things in his face and he shows no interest.
Instead, he has been spending hours downstairs. I no longer spend any time hunting for him when he goes missing. He's at the bottom of the basement steps.
Last night, he started caterwauling at about nine. Big production. Lured me into the basement.
He led me with great intent to a dark corner. I thought he was alerting me that the Roomba was off its stand. No. He was letting me know that there was a dead beetle on the ground. I poked it. Not a cicada. Tiny winged thing. I nudged it with my toe. Goldie looked at me with significance.
"Oh!" I said. "I thought you were down here hunting mice. This beetle is ... not a mouse. But, still pretty good." Then I made a big fuss over the minuscule beetle.
Then he marched me over to Gary's drum set where there was an equally minuscule baby moth. I made the same production. Then I brought him back to the growing pile of mouse poop in the corner and Goldie darted upstairs.
All I can guess is that he is ashamed of his fear of mice, has heard Gary (and I) shrieking about the cicadas, and has taken on the role of winged insect killer.
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