Our cat, Casper, caught a mouse last night. Naturally he deposited its mangled, half-shredded corpse on our bedroom floor once he was finished with it.
I tried to pick it up quickly using a sock like a glove and dispose of it without Emmy seeing what I was doing, but of course she saw. She sees everything.
“Nothing. It’s a sock.”
“No it isn’t. What IS that?”
“It’s a mouse, baby. Casper caught it.”
“OOoohhh! It’s so cute!”
“No, it’s not cute, it’s dead.”
“Oh. I wanna touch it.”
“You can’t touch it.”
“Because it’s dirty.”
“Oh! We can wash it off. And then dry it. It’ll be my friend!”
“No, I’m sorry but I have to throw it away.”
“But I wanna play with it!”
At some point I assume she’ll begin to have reservations about being close, personal friends with rodent corpses. Right now, rotting death is clearly not a limiting criterion in friend selection.