Opened the door to feed the cat this morning, and in he bounded, as usual. Very playful and wide-awake, swatting his favourite toy mouse around the floor. Except that his toy mouse was purply and fluffy and several feet away, and this one was brown, bedraggled, and limping.
Oh dear. Well, we did add him to the payroll for exactly this kind of work - except we'ld hoped for discreet executions, rather than extended torture sessions on the kitchen floor. I donned a pair kitchen gloves and grabbed mousy on his next escape attempt; for reasons I still can't fathom, I took him outside instead of snapping his poor little neck on the spot - and he slipped free from my glove-clumsy hands.
So, I'm minus one condemned prisoner, plus one confused and disgruntled cat. I suspect Mousy's reprieve will be short-lived, though - if he is still in our little garden, his days are probably numbered.