I once read a column about a guy whose cat brought him so many live mice that he was about to lose his mind. So he writes to our pet columnist guy and says, "Hey, I'm losing my mind here. What's with all these live mice?"

The pet columnist tells him, "Sorry, Charlie, she thinks that you are a pretty dense kitten. She's trying to teach you to survive. If you want her to stop, you'll have to pick up the mouse IN YOUR MOUTH to prove you've got her message." Haha, say most of us, what kind of a dink would do that, haha.

Time passes.

Then the guy writes back in. He's done it. He's gotten down on his kitchen floor, batted the poor little mouse with his hands and picked it up IN HIS MOUTH (ack! phleck!), and shaken it about to prove he gets it.

His cat, he reported, went berserk. She purred, she headbutted, she kneaded him, she praised him in no uncertain terms. She was so THRILLED with her slow boy. She then pranced away. And never brought him another live critter again.

I guess it _might_ be a solution...but then again, just how BIG a problem is it, after all?