My daughter’s cat, Mr. Pucko, likes to kill things. He was so adorable when he killed his first bird that we wanted to commemorate it, so we made a little bird grave with a little bird tombstone. It seemed pretty funny at the time. Over the next couple of weeks he would bring back more birds and even a snake and we buried those, too.
Spurred on by the permanent monuments to his hunting prowess, he has continued to reduce the neighborhood’s wildlife population–birds, squirrels, bunnies. Each time he brings the carcass (or what is left of it) back to us and sits waiting until we bury it with a grave marker. It’s kind of macabre, really–the entire front yard is full of tiny tombstones. One of them has little bunny ears on it. The neighbors are starting to wonder what is going on, and people drive slower as pass the house, now. Still, it keeps us from having bones and feathers all over the yard.
But things are staring to get a little out of hand. Not content to merely kill things and have them chucked in a hole, Puck is starting to hint that he wants to have them stuffed. Taxidermy is expensive, especially when someone has eaten all of the meaty bits out of the critter. On top of all this, he wants them mounted on the wall. At cat height.
That was the last straw. The last time he brought a little animal corpse home, we just let him sit there over his kill, ignoring the dour look on his little face.
However, I’m starting to feel a little nervous. You know how cats tend to walk between your feet when you are going down stairs? I wonder if he is doing it a little bit too much.
I hope he’s not reading this.
I am so scared.
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