In Awe

B I G C A T S

Rated PG for extreme mouse violence that some viewers may find disturbing

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As a former dog man I seem these days to be finding myself increasingly absorbed and captivated by cats.

Big cats that is. Big hunting cats.

And although the humble domestic cat may appear so very cute to our eyes, from the perspective of your average common or garden mouse this very same cuddly kitty poses a constant, real and quite terrifying menace… as we are soon to witness.

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Meet Miss Kitty…

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Her razor sharp hunting skills are all that separate us from an onslaught of post winter baby-boom mice.

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All winter long I’ve watched as they have been busy procreating, burrowing then racing through these complex urban thoroughfares, procreating, gathering food, procreating… and procreating some more from the look of their surging numbers this spring.

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Hardly a square foot of permasnow seemed to escape their frenetic tunneling.

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I grew to quite admire their cheerful industriousness.

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Miss Kitty however, like all true cats, shares no such sentiment. She is all that prevents a mouse population explosion, and she knows it.

She knows what she has to do, how to do it, and no matter how excruciating the wait, once those eyes of hers lock-on to their target it is game over for the poor unsuspecting rodent.

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Given her deserved fearsome reputation as a world renowned hunter this is a Miss Kitty pose I often see throughout the none-frozen months.

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She really can keep this up for however long it takes.

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Normally, on spying Miss Kitty in the locked-on hunting mode, I would continue on with my business and leave her in peace in order to concentrate upon the job at hand, but this particular day I opted to zoom in for a closer look.

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The object of her intense scrutiny turned out to be a plump little baby – one of a burgeoning colony of field mice that have in recent years taken residence beneath the Will & Grace sculpture, mere yards from the cabin.

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Unaware of the lurking menace this poor little chap has but moments to live as he furtively gathers his final humble little scavenged meal.

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There is practically nothing that can save him now.

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WHAM. Kitty pounces. And when Kitty pounces Kitty seldom misses.

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Off she trots with her wriggling spoils.

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THIS would be a good point for those with a squeamish disposition to perhaps stop scrolling now.

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Who cannot feel sorry for the unfortunate rodent?

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I’ll say this for Miss Kitty though, unlike some cats I’ve witnessed she never plays with her food.

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With one monster crunching bite the head is gone and the body finally goes limp.

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Yes, this is the same cuddly kitty that loves being brushed, purring like a knitting machine, lolling indulgently side to side.

“Sniff, sniff, sniff. Hhmmmmn!”

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Unlike their older, more robust compatriots these fresh from the nest babies usually go down lock stock and barrel.

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Intestines are not her favorite part, and on larger mice she tends to leave them for the scavenging birds to squabble over, but this time around she’s clearly having second thoughts. It was so young and tender after all. And they only taste this good in the springtime, or so she tells me.

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