I haven’t been feeling all that well for the last few weeks. First I still have that lingering summer cold, and the new medication is causing a bit of queasiness.
As I was loading the dishwasher, the white cat hit the cat door at full speed. As he raced to the dining room, I noticed he had something in his mouth. It looked like a young squirrel. I was screaming at him at the top of my lungs, so he dropped it. I chased him out the door.
It was another one of those “What to do? What to do?” moments. Mr. Fixit is at work and he won’t be home until 12:30. I asked myself, “Do you really want a dead animal in your dining room until 12:30?” No, definitely not. I got the broom, dustpan, and plastic bag. I quickly, I must stress quickly, swept up the remains, dumped it in the plastic bag and deposited the bag in the garbage can. Thank heaven tomorrow is garbage pickup day.
As I walked back into the house, the nausea hit. How do I put this delicately? I heaved my guts out. My hands are still shaking.
I always thought that man was the only animal to kill for pleasure, but there is no reason for this cat to “hunt.” He is well fed twice a day, and there is always dry food available to him to nibble throughout the day. It couldn’t be self defense. The worst a juvenile squirrel can do to him is to drop pinecones on his head. Call me a liberal, but I don’t think assault with a pinecone should be punishable by death. I realize that hunting is instinctual, but I wish he wouldn’t bring his trophies into the house.
My cat phobia may be returning.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Living in the sticks like we do gives new meaning to the old saying "Look what the cat dragged in".
Post a Comment