I'm visiting mum for a few days. She has three indoor cats and one indoor/outdoor cat which used to be feral. He's a big, fuzzy Maine coon who prefers to sleep outside even on cold nights. And he likes to sleep on top of his cat house which is on the porch rather than in it just because fuck you, that's why!
So tonight I step out to indulge myself with a black and mild on the porch and I look over to the driveway. This cat is in the middle of the driveway and stops dead in his tracks and looks at me as though he was hoping to not be seen. There's some guilty eye contact going on with me and him, probably because, even though he always has a nice bowl of food sitting out there for him on the porch all the time, on this occasion he has dangling from his mouth a small rabbit. He just looked like he'd been busted. Like I give a crap. That cat-and all cats-are hunters, man! Killers at heart! They wouldn't be cats if they didn't still live for the thrill of the kill. So I told him "Well don't mind me, just go ahead and do what you were going to do, bro!"
So he sets it down and the prey is apparently still alive, but not by much, and not by long. It's moving just enough for him to bat it and watch it flop around with some sense of amusement. If I were some pussy-assed crybaby who couldn't take the blood, I would have shooed him away from it and given it a quick death by way of crushing it with a rock, but that just isn't me. I finished the black and mild just as he got tired of playing with his dinner and finally dug in......to his abdomen. I opened the door thinking "That's too bad, Bugs, but your ass done got caught slippin'. Welcome to life in the big city, babe."
So tonight I step out to indulge myself with a black and mild on the porch and I look over to the driveway. This cat is in the middle of the driveway and stops dead in his tracks and looks at me as though he was hoping to not be seen. There's some guilty eye contact going on with me and him, probably because, even though he always has a nice bowl of food sitting out there for him on the porch all the time, on this occasion he has dangling from his mouth a small rabbit. He just looked like he'd been busted. Like I give a crap. That cat-and all cats-are hunters, man! Killers at heart! They wouldn't be cats if they didn't still live for the thrill of the kill. So I told him "Well don't mind me, just go ahead and do what you were going to do, bro!"
So he sets it down and the prey is apparently still alive, but not by much, and not by long. It's moving just enough for him to bat it and watch it flop around with some sense of amusement. If I were some pussy-assed crybaby who couldn't take the blood, I would have shooed him away from it and given it a quick death by way of crushing it with a rock, but that just isn't me. I finished the black and mild just as he got tired of playing with his dinner and finally dug in......to his abdomen. I opened the door thinking "That's too bad, Bugs, but your ass done got caught slippin'. Welcome to life in the big city, babe."
