Tibby Tibbits slipped through a carelessly closed door. It wasn’t often that she managed to escape from the house, but when the opportunity presented itself, she had no objection to taking advantage.
Spring was in the air, and while her thoughts did not turn to love, they were inclined toward something else which Tibby did just as well, and with the same instinct. She was a hunter, quite a famous one as a matter of fact.
A paper scrunched up and tied to the end of a string was soon ripped to shreds by Tibby’s sharp little claws. Though the little red laser light was hard to pin down, Tibby would certainly have caught it, if it had been catchable. And that silly sock filled with catnip didn’t even try to escape her clutches when she pounced.
Now, free from the confines of her normal domain, the tiger in Tibby looked around in the hopes of seeing something that was more appropriate to the skills of the fierce feline that she was.
Then she saw it.
From her perch in the living room window, Tibby often watched the birds stuffing themselves at the bird feeder. They were cheeky things, chirping and chippering as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
But they do now.
Tibby crouched. There was no point jumping for the bird feeder. She knew the birds would scatter and she would find herself with empty paws. However, Tibby knew that, unlike her, the birds were messy eaters. Eventually one of them would fly to the ground at the base of the feeder looking for what had been dropped.
Not a muscle moved. Not a hair hurried. Not a whisker whisked. Tibby turned into a resolute rock: immoveable, focused, and hungry, a pseudo-lion on its interminable mission of hide and seek.
And you, little birdie, are “it.”
While the birds were stuffing themselves, heedless of the imminent peril, Tibby moved closer, each movement so slow that slow motion seemed fast by comparison. Every few inches, she froze in place, making sure that her prey was still unaware of her presence. Soon she was as close to the bottom of the pole holding the bird feeder as she needed to be.
There is no creature as patient as a cat. Tibby waited, every fiber of her being focused on the object of her desire. Pheasant Colette En Crout, Chicken Cordon Bleu, Blackbird Pie, Duck a L’orange. Bird’s Nest Soup, they were all there, fattening themselves up for Tibby’s lunch.
The seeds flew, and finally one juicy fat flying diner shot down to pick up what had landed on the ground.
Well, not quite, but Tibby was not one to be pessimistic.
Dinner hopped around, hunting and pecking. His search brought him closer and closer to his destiny. His thoughts were as focused as those of his enemy. His carelessness took him within a swipe of Tibby Tibbets’ dangerously dainty paws. With one quick pounce and one swift and sure scoop, she had him.
Pinned beneath Tibby’s paws, the bird looked straight into the eyes of one satisfied pussy.
“Oh please, don’t.”
“Why not? You are a bird and I am a cat. It’s natural. You are for me to eat. You are meat and I am an eater of meat.”
“I certainly cannot argue with your logic, but may I appeal to your humanity?”
“You miss the point. I am not human. I am a cat. I have no humanity for you to appeal to. You are lunch and I am going to eat you.”
“Very well, do your worst. I am at your mercy.”
There was something about the bird that gave Tibby pause, some secret knowledge that she had yet to be invited to share. However, now was no time to dilly-dally. Lunch was served.
Feathers. Whatever am I to do with these feathers? And these hard bits; beaks, toes, and bones? This menu is definitely most rudimentary, rustic even, not at all what a cat of my class is accustomed to.
“Please hurry. Waiting for death is not easy. A swift blow would be the least mercy you could show.”
Tibby looked at the bird.
“I told you before that I am a cat, not a human. The truth of the matter is that I am superior in humanity to any human.”
With that, Tibby lifted the paws that pinned the bird to the ground.
“Besides, I wasn’t really hungry anyway.”
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