Thursday, February 3, 2011

Squeak is dining out

Our cat, whose name is Squeak, is a great hunter, I mean, a dangerous serial killer. Her murder instincts developed at the tender age of less than one year. One day, as I was watching the news (although this doesn't have any direct implications for the rest of the story), I saw an orange furry object trying to get through the terrace window. It was her first big catch: a stuffed furry animal that she had snatched from I don't know where. This was probably for training purposes. After that she went for real preys.

I haven't kept any statistics but she must have slaughtered hundreds of ex-living creatures. Her palmarès includes everything that is alive and smaller than her. Here's a non-exhaustive list:

  • mice

  • rats

  • geckos

  • cockroaches

  • various unidentified insects

  • squirrels

  • birds

  • bats

  • rabbits

Regarding rabbits, she brought five of them. They were coming from our neighbours who were raising them. We told them to keep the rabbits in cage at night. Now there are no more rabbits and the neighbours are raising pigeons instead.

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