D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County, S.C., and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat. Her column is published here each Tuesday. Opinions expressed are solely her own.

My cat, Rover, has been sick. This past Friday we took him to the veterinarian and, having spent the weekend administering him antibiotics, he is on the mend.

Today, after a long Monday at work, as I sat in my living room, talking on the phone with my sister, a sudden movement by Rover caught my attention. Anyone who owns a cat knows when your cat goes into his hunting moves. Suddenly his back is up and he moves very stealthily, advancing slowly, preparing to pounce on his prey.

Figuring that Rover had brought in another lizard or frog, as he has done in the past, I began to search for his latest victim.

Then to my extreme horror, I saw it...A MOUSE...IN MY HOUSE! My cat had brought home a mouse.

“Oh, my God!” I shrieked, at which point Rover ran outside and the mouse disappeared under my red sofa.

What now? Where to run? Where to hide? What to do?

Call my husband...call my son...call the police...call the exterminator...!

Grab a knife...grab a gun...grab the fireplace poker...grab a broom.

How grateful I was that Mike, my husband, and Daniel, my son, answered my frantic call and agreed to hasten to my rescue.

In the few minutes it took for my knights to arrive home, brilliant in their shining amour, I had used various throws, pillows and blankets as barriers to prevent the mouse from entering our bedrooms and had used other items to try to prevent his escape into other parts of the house.

And, as my knights came through the door, I was prepared to hand them their weapons of war consisting of a mop, a couple of brooms and the fireplace poker.

But as every princess knows, a black knight has a mind of his own. Mine commenced to telling me that they had another plan -- that they were soft-hearted knights and would not slay my dragon, but would trap him and release him back into the wild.

I tried to tell them that mice move fast and would likely get away from them and be lost in our house. My plan was simple: Kill Him. But, noooo. These soft-hearted knights were hard-headed.

So the motley crew set out with a fishing net, a rag and a pair of gloves.

Their first task was to locate the mouse, and when the knights did not locate him, they began to question me, demanding to know if I was sure I saw it or if it was possible that Rover had taken it back outside with him when he left.

Certain of the mouse's presence, I joined in the search and soon spotted the creature crouched in a corner under the entertainment center.

Enter the knights. Soon they had the enemy surrounded. I waited, shaking in the kitchen as they repeatedly attempted to throw their cloth over the mouse, each time coming up empty. The holes in the fishing net proved too large to contain the mouse and my son, with the gloves, was too afraid to catch him when the mouse came charging in his direction.

And somewhere between the flying cloths and the yelling, suddenly the mouse was gone. He had slipped the proverbial dragnet.

Gone!

We turned over furniture. We looked in corners and in crevices. And suspicious that it might have squeezed into one of them, I even tore the bottoms out of my speakers.

The mouse was nowhere to be found.

I will have to repent and tell Jesus the things I said to those clumsy knights! And like black knights of old, they told me to "shut up." They didn't want my advice before and they didn't want my complaints after.\So, in a rage, off to Home Depot I went. How was I going to sleep with a mouse in my house. What if he gets into my kitchen, I thought. What if he gets in my bed? And since I work from home, I was sure that the intention of the mouse was to wait until I was home alone to make his presence known.

I arrived at Home Depot a few minutes before their closing time, and as I stood anxiously pondering the many contraptions designed to kill mice, the stores lights started to dim, signaling closing, at which point I burst into tears. Not just tears but shaking, barely muffled sobs.

A Depot staffer soon spied me and offered her help, and I cried harder as I told her my sad story. She soon had me fixed up with six mousetrap boxes that were to be baited with peanut butter and set to catch the offending critter during the night.

Back at home, the traps were set. I had managed to calm down to a simmer and had resigned myself to a sleepless night when in walked Rover.

He went straight to the place he last saw his prey and sniffed around for a few minutes. "He’s not there," I wanted to scream at my stupid cat. After a few minutes of watching, I had turned away when I heard a faint squealing. Then, out came Rover The Triumphant with the mouse in his mouth as he headed for the door.

Mike heard the squeaking about the same time and came running. Gone was the sympathetic knight of before. No longer concerned for the flailing mouse, now Mike yelled, "Outside, Rover! Take him outside." And Rover did.

I'm going to bed now. It has been a long day.

I don't know the moral of this story or the lesson learned? Maybe I'll know come morning.

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