The Feline Damien Hurst

Grendel seems to be developing a sense of macabre whimsy. When it comes to displaying the results of her murderous rampage through the fauna of the area, she's become a little bit artistic. In a twisted kind of way.

Take this morning for example -- I got up to find a mouse head on the porch floor, staring up at me. She'd somehow managed to leave a little tuft of skin and fur attached to one side, with a forepaw on it, as if she was making a much smaller mouse out of a bigger one. And not just by eating most of it.

Mouse Recumbant - by Grendel MacBride, 2007This is not the first time I've wandered out of the kitchen to find the feline equivalent of 'Shark in formaldehyde' waiting for me. Once she managed to eat every single bit of the mouse from behind the ears down. Then displayed it with the nose was pointing up, the ears spread out, so it looked as if the mouse was swimming up out of the concrete.

Which is a bit surreal for six o'clock on a Monday morning.

I wonder why she occasionally leaves these heads for us. I know she thinks they're the tastiest bit -- more often than not it's the bit she eats first. CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH. We can hear her from the kitchen as she munches away. Mmm, tasty mouse head with its little squidgy pink brain in a crispy shell... CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

A bit like a walnut whip, I suppose. Only meatier.

Labels: