A word about those catnip "mice"

The catnip through the post came packed tightly in little sacks with a convenient string attached for dragging them around, pouncing on when high as a kite, or just pawing when out of it. Nice little sacks. Nicely made by a well wisher, who has seen my handsome photograph on this blog and wishes to pay her own small tribute to me. I have enjoyed, and am still greatly enjoying, them. Doing catnip is great.
But... Celia thinks they are mice. She calls them catnip "mice." She's got the same delusion about two or three little furry toys which I sometimes play with when there's nothing to kill outside. Of course, they are not mice. They don't smell like mice. They smell, of course, of old rabbit fur - probably oriental or maybe Chinese rabbit and been dead a long time. I reckon the fur has been stuck on something a bit like cardboard. I mean they are fun, but they are not mice. Neither are the little catnip sacks.
When I came to, after doing some more catnip earlier today, I pondered on this. I mean if it doesn't smell like a mouse and it doesn't move like a mouse, it's not a mouse. I think her delusion arises from the fact that humans have practically no sense of smell. They can't tell the difference between friend and foe by smell. They can't smell intruders or next doors' friends. They can hardly smell anything at all. They are smell-blind, so to speak.
Nor can they hear. They are deaf to a mouse's footfall. If a thing doesn't sound like a mouse, it's not a mouse. But humans are almost insensible. The only sense they have is vision. Even their sight comes in glaring colours and is not movement sensitive, so they can't see much at twilight hunting hour. Lacking smell, hearing, sensitivity to movement, Celia looks at a little sack of catnip and she "sees" a mouse, just because of the shape.
How weird is that? Poor woman.