How Not to Start the Day, Part III

Turns out Cleo might be a "he". There weren't a lot of androgynous names in my vocabulary that day when I sat down to write the post. The name stays. After what happened this morning, neutering the feline is now an option.

This morning, under the porch, sitting next to the broom next to the lower half of a mouse was a small pile of regurgitated meat. Up to now, I always thought only big cats would hoard left-over kills for a rainy day. Following that thought is a sense of relief, knowing that lions, et al never evolved the attributes needed for domestication. I'd have a very difficult time explaining the presence of a partially-eaten neighbour in my front yard.

I'm sure they had a great night of hunting, and it'd be rude not to share, but we hairless apes live on a different kind of diet. And Sisters #1 and #2 are a bit more squeamish than I am. The last gecko they brought home sent Sister #2 into an angry, insecticide-spraying frenzy - to no avail, I should add.

As I was disposing of it, Cleo and the other black cat (whom I shall label "Cloud") walk past the gate. I quickly conclude my business, clean up, lock the gate and drive off to work. If it was their doggie-bag that I'd just dumped, I do not want to be near either one when they're hungry. At least they'll be able to eat. My appetite, meanwhile, checked out for the rest of the morning.