Data point 1:
For graduation, my grandmother sent Jess a wonderful hand-knit/crocheted/something blanket. Very nice. It's on our bed now.
Data point 2:
Last night, shortly after midnight, we were awakened by a loud crashing noise followed by the cat tearing ass out of our room. I got up, looked around, saw nothing unusual. I walked to the top of the stairs, and saw Smokey at the bottom, looking up. Without my glasses on, I couldn't make out the details, but it looked like he might have had something in his mouth. Squinted, shrugged, went back to bed.
This morning, I woke up, went to work, etc. I had forgotten data point 2.
I get a call from Jess as I'm walking out of an early-morning meeting with my boss. "Yeah, the cat threw up last night, on the blanket your grandmother gave me." Oh, boo-hoo. "There was blood in it." Oh, crap, our cat is sick. He's vomiting blood. This is bad, right?
Ah. See, no. It wasn't his blood. Jess, in the process of cleaning up the vomit, solved the mystery -- evidently our cat not only caught, but ate, an entire small mouse last night. And then proceeded to barf up the resulting chewed up corpse.
So, yeah, go Smokey. Poor Jess. "I mean, there was a foot, a tail, pieces of a head, intestines, ... " Oh, damn. So glad I somehow managed to wake up, get ready for work, and go to work, without seeing that.
We've been very pest-free in this apartment, but we have seen evidence of mice in our attic before. We have seen exactly one mouse outside the attic, in our bedroom, and smokey chased it back under the door that leads to the attic. This one clearly will not be returning to wherever he came from.