Last night when we came home from a baseball game, I opened the back door to say hello to the cats. Mother Cat was there to greet me, but Big Boy, the white one, didn’t show. I began to get worried when chicken time came and he didn’t appear. He never misses his nightly chicken snack.
I called, I used the “come-and-get-it” signal, and I walked around the house with a flashlight. I was afraid he had met with foul play.
Then I heard a rustling under the deck. The light revealed the blood-thirsty feline with a baby bunny in his mouth. Since the weather has been warmer, he has been sleeping outside. It appears that his hunting instinct is alive and well despite the fact that he is well fed. He has brought two field mice and left them at the back door for me. I realize cats are predators, but it doesn’t endear him to me. It also reminds me why I was cat-phobic for so many years.
The poor little bunny was was screaming; then there was silence.
As he moves up the food chain, who’s next, Bambi?