It was my human parent’s birthday this weekend, and I decided to show how much I appreciate her by bringing her a gift. So off I scampered into the night until I found what I was looking for: a small mouse. Ensnaring it with a deft paw, I quickly dragged it back to my lair, where I proceeded to bat it joyfully round the kitchen. After a few minutes of this I shouted for my human parent to come and see what I had. The beast was no longer moving at this point: either it had expired from shock or from a traumatic brain injury due to being slapped about the tiled floor with a bit too much force.
My human entered the kitchen and immediately exited it again, a mixture of horror and disgust on her face. I commanded she come back and look properly at what I had so kindly brought her. Instead, she returned and we engaged in a game of what can only be described as, well cat and mouse, where she tried to dispatch the rodent to the dustbin and I tried to guard it fiercely.
Two days later I thought I’d give it another shot. I needed something bigger, I decided. Something that would really make her sit up and take notice. On a late night prowl around the courtyard for inspiration, i saw it. A rat. A small one, mind you, but a rat nonetheless. Quick as a flash I reached out to grab it. Back in the house, I did not need to call my human parent to the kitchen: the squeaking of the rat as I held it down with a firm paw had already alerted her to the fact there was a third occupant in the house. Upon seeing my ‘prize’ my human parent beat a hasty retreat with mutters of ‘disgusting beast’ (a reference to the rodent and not me, I hoped). I heard her calling for reinforcements, and one of the neighbours soon arrived to return the rodent to the great outdoors. Needless to say, I was most upset my ‘toy’ had been taken away and voiced my indignation loudly.
Right now I am thinking what I can bring home next: something bigger and better and far, far scarier.