Awhile back I told you that we would eventually have to talk about the cats. Now is one of those times. The cat called Brat Cat, the holy terror, the born killer, the pest, the aggravation of my life, has commited another dastardly deed. I happened to catch sight of the little monster as I passed a window yesterday afternoon. She was sitting among a stand of flowers near the front door. Not doing anything, not even sleeping, just sitting there. I'm thinking smart cat, found a cool place in the shade.
A few hours later, I glance out the front door and Brat Cat is playing with an object of some kind, pushing it around on the cement and occasionally flipping it up in the air. It looked to be a big moth or a cicada but a closer look revealed the shocking truth, it was a hummingbird; a dead hummingbird. Her former position among the flowers wasn't for shade at all, it was an ambush point. As I said, natural born killer.
Oh I can hear the bird lovers now, "I'd get rid of that cat so fast." The thing is, you don't understand the problem. You're not seeing the big picture. While I am a bird lover, the Missus is a cat lover. Actually, the term cat lover doesn't cover it. More like cat fanatic bordering on feline related mental illness. To get rid of one of her cats is akin to selling one of her children into white slavery. Seriously. She can be watching film of the death camp at Auschwitz and if a kitty comes into view, she'll say "Oh that poor cat." Seriously.
Two possible solutions come to mind. One, cut down the flowers and two, start shopping for a kitty taser. Hey, electricity worked on the raccoons.