Moments ago I was awoken by the familiar plaintive mewling of Cat.
To the surprise of no one reading this blog, he'd found another victim, only this one was unlike any he'd brought me before. For one thing, it was much smaller than any of his previous kills. Where his victims had previously all been disgustingly large rats, this one was a tiny mouse or perhaps a shrew.
For another thing, this one was far from dead.
I first spied it as a small black mass struggling under his relatively huge white paw. It scampered a few inches away as Cat meticulously watched, letting it get just far enough to allow the feline killer a joyful full body leap onto his prey. He batted it a few times, but the poor little rodent just wouldn't give up.
Despite the seemingly futile struggle, it continued its attempts to flee only to have Cat pounce on it again and again.
Then, feeling the same twinge of guilt one would hope a benevolent god would feel in having witnessed the plight of the Haitian people during their recent cataclysm, I decided to step in. I picked Cat up, sequestered him in my room, scooped up the surprisingly healthy rodent, and spirited him outside. I placed the little fellow out in the garden, whispered a few words of warning ("Dude, seriously, get the fuck out of here!") before returning to my room.
By this time Cat was incensed at having been robbed of his kill and was clawing at the door to my room, shrieking like a feral banshee. I opened the door, watched him sprint to the point where he'd last seen his prey, and turn back to me as if to say "How dare you rob me of my kill! I know where you sleep!"
Now dear readers, I'm off to bed. I can only pray tomorrow won't find me with my otherwise loving pet having split my jugular beneath his polydactyl killing utensils.