Our Cat Kills Mice For Us
This is Valentine, ferocious killer!
My cat's got me just where she wants me.
Yes I know, a cat article. Expect more, I dig cats. It's almost embarrassing really, but the heart wants what it wants, haha.
I "saved" this cat from the West side of Chicago several years ago. Despite the cliched ring to it, in many ways she saved me too. That's another path of words altogether though. This tale is about Valentine's penchant for chasing tales, mainly tiny rodential ones. That's right, I said rodential. Mouse parts, voles and moles, critter herds, you know what I mean.
This cat of mine, I've always believed, senses things in my families life. I can't say how or why, just little things she does to warm up to you. As if she understands a language of energy that I'm not in touch with or something.
As promised, another feline flight of fancy here...
- Rescued By An Animal
The Great Spirit Gave Me The Gift Of Valentine, The Wandering Feline. Valentine and her housemate:Storm aka The Fat Cat This isn't what it looks like. There's a food dish behind Valentine's behind... About...
Here he is, Valentine's bounty.
Thanks but no thanks Valentine!
I know my cat's heart is in the right place. I know she's going out and killing the mice in our back field to help add to the groceries around here. I'm not sure why I know, but I just do.
She's taken to killing the Microtus pennsylvanicus, or Field Mice in our backyard. They're kind of cute, pudgy little varmints that I've spotted here and there near the garbage and to the edge of our little woods. Pretty much once or twice a week our cat Valentine dispatches one and leaves it at our back door, as if to say, "Here you go Dad, I caught another one for the dinner table. Cook it up."
But I of course do not. As adventurous as my menu sometimes is, I draw the line at rodents. Mainly I feel bad that Valentine, our well fed domestic cat, goes out and basically kills for sport. Stealing the dinner away from Red Tailed hawks and owls no doubt.
When we lived in the city, shortly after I saved her from the street, she caught a regular house mouse and proceeded to devour the little bugger within a few hours. Now the need is gone, but not the instinct apparently.
I unceremoniously carry the remains of Microtus pennsylvanicus to the backyard where I imagine raccoon, possum or maybe a raven or two may hopefully take advantage of this little creatures protein packed remains.
Although I appreciate Valentine's sentiment, and I can read her communication with me like a sixth sense, I wish that I could communicate to her to just stick with the kibble! Alas, I can't stop letting her out. She's got those big doe eyes that beg at me like "Flower" from the Bambi movie. What's more she lived a torturous life of suffering back in Chicago, I've finally found some respite for her here in the country. I just hope she learns to leave a little more for the locals.
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