I've been wondering why so many field mice keep ending up inside the house where our cat Tater Tot chases them down, kills them--and occasionally dismembers them. Can't they smell our cat? Last night, as the rain was pouring down, we opened the front door--and a gray blur went flying over the threshold.
It took a second or two for the blur to slow down enough to see that it was a field mouse. We spent the next twenty minutes trying to catch it behind the bookshelf (mostly in the English literature section--good taste), while Tater Tot provided at best, supervisory functions, for what should be his forte--mousing.
I guess a house--even with a cat in it--must look pretty inviting compared to a pouring rainstorm.