Mister Smitty got a mouse!
He brought it up to the most heavily-trafficked spot on the porch to present to his Misters. (Luckily I slung the door shut before being so richly gifted with live game.)
He played with the wee sleekit tim’rous beastie for awhile before picking him up and taking him down to the killing floor (the grass at the bottom of the stairs where the Smee has consumed all but one of his dark materials).
“We should erect a scoreboard down on the killing floor.”
“It would say Birds 4, Rodents 4.
“That’s what I call a dead (h)eat!”
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