Sometimes it's icky to be loved

When the girl went away from the hearth and home of her parental units, she left behind this delightfully round and rotten animal.
This animal loves us. That's why she brings us these:
And these seem to be especially fat and particularly plentiful this year, and the place of choice for these gifts is right outside the bedrooms, at the top of the stairs. I just know, one of these nights, my husband is going to get up in the middle of the night, in the dark, without his glasses, and tread upon one of these little dainties, and then bring the results back into our bed on his feet.

Do you supposed the US Army would object if I sent that girl her cat?