Log #0009: The Mighty Hunter

She did it again.

My pampered, innocent lap-cat has scored another kill.

A couple of months ago, I was sitting at my computer, working, while the cat kept bringing me one of her toys to throw. She likes to chase them, bat them around, and then bring them back to me to throw again. Well, I threw the toy, heard a little scuffle, then she came back to my chair and I looked down to see her carrying ... something else.

My mind didn't want to process it at first. I froze in the act of reaching down, thinking, Is that one of her toy mice? It has to be ... but I don't remember them having little dangling feet ... OH MY GOD!

I didn't quite scream "Eek!" and jump up on my chair, but it was a close thing. I could see the mouse wasn't yet dead, and having displayed her prize Charlotte was in no mood to give it up. I grabbed a paper towel and chased her all over the house chanting, "Good cat, gooo-oood cat, okay, now drop it, drop it girl, oh God, not in my bedroom.."

She finally dropped it next to my bed and stepped away, leaving me to grab it by the tail and fling it outside.

I was so torn between pride and revulsion. On the one hand, eww; on the other, she's never had a more knowledgeable cat to teach her about hunting things. I've had her since she was five weeks old and she has always been strictly an indoor cat. The only thing I've ever seen her "stalk" was the occasional spider, and that usually involved a lot more fascinated observation than actual hunting behavior. I guess the "toss, catch, retrieve" game has been good training all these years.

The Mighty Hunter, Redux

But as I was saying, she did it again. I awoke this morning to find she wasn't waiting outside my bedroom door for me. This is unusual by itself. Then she came running down the hall to me, talking. I walked with her out to the living room, glanced over at the front door - and yelped and jumped when I saw the trophy lying on the rug. Before my first cup of coffee, too. Not the best start to my day.

I praised her lavishly, then grabbed another paper towel and picked up the mouse. On my quick once-over, I didn't see any obvious wounds. Well, that was a relief. I've heard stories from other cat owners, I would have hated to clean up ... pieces.

After tossing the mouse outside, I walked into the bathroom and entered what must have been the killing field. There were smears of blood on the floor, on the bath mat, on the tub ... I spent my first 40 minutes awake on my hands and knees cleaning up. The bath mat went in the washer. And Charlotte...

Charlotte waited for me to turn on the faucet, drank for a long time, then quietly went out to the living room. She's been sleeping on her pillow on the couch, interspersed with periods of restless pacing and sniffing. I assume this is the aftermath of a tiring battle. She also had some blood on her paw and muzzle and didn't seem to like the taste when she washed it off, and I think that's disturbing her, too. My poor, neurotic cat, nothing is ever simple where she's concerned.

And me? I took the bath mat out of the dryer, calmed the "ew" factor with a cup of coffee and am hoping it will be at least another two months before I'm presented with another small corpse first thing in the morning. Wish me luck.

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