This morning I was on a Skype conference call to the States, and I look at the front door to see Demon Cat outside.

And he’s holding something in his mouth.

And that something is moving.

This created some cognitive dissonance, because in the 13 years I’ve known Gordito (I don’t care how old he is, I have always and will always have known him for 13 years. It just fits) he has never bothered to actually hunt anything.

After all, he can kill things at the speed of light with just the power of his hate. So why bother working up a sweat?

But when I opened the door I found him with a tiny feathery gift in his vicious, evil, slavering maw.  I instinctively grabbed him by the scruff, which made him drop the bird … which immediately flew away…

… only not out the open door…

… but into the bedroom.

Demon Cat and Stupid Buddha Cat both chased it into the bedroom. Cece and I chased everyone. Cue “Flight of the Bumblebee” as we performed a slapstick farce worthy of Chaplin.

I finally got my hands on the poor little thing. I took it outside and let it free.

I choose to believe that it’s safe and okay, having learned a valuable lesson in anti-feline safety measures.

Let's not meet again, little fella

In the meantime, Demon Cat and I gotta have a talk about the strange and confusing new feelings he’s having. This isn’t “the birds and the bees,” it’s just “the birds.”

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