Charles Doesn't Want to Show Me His Mice

So every time I come into my apartment there's some bad smell, which is Charles' fault. I think that most of the smells that exist in the world are bad, so in general I'd like to go with the absence of odor in my living space. Charles doesn't understand this. I used to think that it was all that damned wet cat food he was eating, because, seriously, it gives him really bad breath. But how could one cat's bad breath stink up my whole apartment? Is his breath so bad that he's exuding it through his pores? Weird, I thought. Then I realized that Charles is catching mice and not bothering to tell me about it. I think most cats would be proud of the fact that they'd killed a mouse. If I caught a mouse with my bare hands, I would show everyone. I'd walk down the street with it cupped gingerly in my two hands, showing it to children and passers-by and especially other cats. But Charles just doesn't need my approval. He doesn't even want it. He just kills mice and leaves them under my bureau or behind the stove or wherever. He's really something, that cat.