My new cat is a serial killer. I’ve finally had to come to terms with this after she kept coming up from the basement all groggy from feasting on woodland creatures she’d lured there from under the porch. It’s a shame, because I got attached to the chipmunks that hung out in my front yard. They’re all dead now and I feel bit guilty for introducing their killer into our territory. Another time I found the basement full of gray and black feathers. It looked like the aftermath of a really low-rent pillow fight. It took me awhile to find the bird they came from. It must have put up quite a fight. I have no idea how she got the bird in there. It did not come willingly, though, I am sure of that.
I would be fine with the carnage if she was capturing critters within the walls of our actual house, but she is somehow snatching them from outside and dragging them inside, where she feeds on them like a lion in its lair. Why can’t she just be satisfied with the food I give her? “Look, turkey and giblets!” I’ll exclaim excitedly. She pounces on it with a growl. But still she goes outside for more. Why does she have to go outside?
