Each time we decide that we will not have any more pets, another one would curiously show up at our doorstep. Last year, it was our two felines. Years ago, it was that helpless featherless chick whose mother never showed up. There were tortoises back then, but that's a different story.
Our tiger-like Summer jumped into the house with a live bird in its mouth. Surely he must have meant to toy about with it, but that is more terrifying than would the cockroaches he usually finds, or a dead birds.
It could only hop about, and every time it landed, two pairs of hunter's eyes fixate themselves on it, All of a sudden, a chilling pounce! How do you put out their killer instinct? (Though as I mentioned, I am certain they mean to play and not devour, not realising that their fangs and claws have been sharpened for slaughter.)
Hopefully it gets better by tomorrow so we may stop panicking each time the cats hear the chirps, give that long stare on the cupboard, and jumping up and down like hyperactive children wanting cookies.
It's just that I can't seem to put a finger on this sort of coincidence somehow.
No comments:
Post a Comment