Ugliest cats I’ve ever seen.
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I gave a mouse a cookie. It was a ginger snap. I was feeding them to the school horse I loved, during a frigid winter day and a mouse appeared in a hole near his feed bin. The mouse presented quite a pathetic picture, and I smiled and handed her/him a cookie. S/he gratefully took it and disappeared into the hole.
I later admitted what I’d done to the stables’ owner, who was a tough cookie herself, but she just laughed and said, “They do become braver during winter.”
Our cat prefers playing with mice to murdering them, which is a household bone of contention. The fucker will catch a mouse and bring it into the living room, then let it go so he can chase it around.
I got reeeaaallly angry when he caught a mouse outside, brought it in, and let it go in the kitchen, where he promptly lost it by the cupboards under the sink! I set a buncha traps in those cupboards, and my BF heard a trap go off not long after. A mouse had been caught, but I still see fresh poops in the cupboards. Bastards!
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A good part of the cat’s behavior is determined by the mouse’s. If the mouse is fearless, there’s a chance the cat does nothing. If the mouse instinctively runs to escape, it triggers the cat’s instinctive behavior to hunt.
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My late cat Jasmine turned out to be a mouser, but not a killer either. The one time she caught a mouse who stowed away in a couch I received from a friend, she brought it to me alive.
As I took it by the tail and threw it out the door, she ran to the window and then looked back at me like I was crazy. 
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We recently lost our Senior Cat, Lorenzo, who was also the Head Mouser and a certified vicious hunter kitty. He was dispatching mice as recently as this past Spring and was quite good at it. The title of Senior Cat has been passed down to Tybalt, but as the next most tenured feline came to us already front-declawed (grrrr), he’s never really been a mouser. The Head Mouser job has therefore been given to the currently most junior cat, Agatha, a fluffy princess of a cat, who we’ve seen perform the chase, but never actually the kill.
Lorenzo mostly ignored her except for the occasional glare that very clearly said “When is she going home?”, but he’d pay just enough attention to her to take the mouse away before she could kill it, so he could break the fun toy himself. My nesting partner and I had to work together to dispose of the carcass. One would distract Lorenzo and praise his mighty hunting abilities, rewarding him with treats, etc., while the other would quietly wrap the remains in a paper towel and get it outside into the garbage can before he noticed what we were doing. Then he’d spend the next few hours investigating the kill spot, trying to figure out where his prey went. (He was a very good kitty and we’re going to miss him.)
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