Well, it had to happen eventually – our little kitten has become a cat. As far as I’m concerned (and nuts to anyone who disagrees) this transition occurs at the point when a little fuzzy ball of fun and mischief becomes a lean, mean killing machine.
Now Grendel has killed things before, but to date her victims have all been bugs – spiders, beetles, forky-tails, the odd midge or five, but today was her first step up the evolutionary value chain. Today was her first mammal.
Nope, Mr Shrew's not sunbathing...
She was mooching about the front of the house, hopping in and out of the long grass on the lawn, in the mist and drizzle, when something furry caught her eye. I know she’s seen mice before, as the wall at the bottom of the garden is home to one or two (the little sods ate all our mange tout this year), but the closest she’s ever got to catching something with fur on it is watching antelope get it in the neck from some lion on the discovery channel.
I suppose the real worry now, is that she looks on a shrew as a good starting point, and continues her way up the chain. First it’s shrews, then mice, then rats, then it’ll be terriers, then sheep, then pigs and on to Shetland ponies (there are loads round here, vicious little buggers) and after that she’ll have nowhere to go but cattle and horses. Now you may scoff, but she’s a Main Coon cat – and while normal cats stop growing between a year and a year and a half, Main Coons keep on going until they’re five. She’s going to be enormous! What if her taste for mammals isn’t sated with cattle? The north east of Scotland is woefully depleted of monkeys (due to an unfortunate mix up with a jar of peanut butter and an economy-jumbo-size packet of condoms), so the only thing left for hunt will be MAN… Which is going to make blowing raspberries on her tummy a lot more dangerous.