Yesterday, I was hanging out at my dad’s house, and Bear was running around outside. The air conditioner is broken (rant on that later), so I had the sliding doors open with the screen doors across. As I was watching TV, I heard a crash and saw a furry blur fly across the open door, so I peered out the window.
Bear was standing there with a dead/dying chipmunk in his mouth, asking to come inside while looking super pleased with himself. Um. No.
I don’t even know how he managed to catch the thing.Maybe he waited for the chipmunk to run under where he was sitting and jump-dropped out of the sky. Can you imagine being a tiny little chipmunk and a 15lb behemoth drops down on you? Or he stumbled across a dead chipmunk and just picked it up. Maybe he found a dying chipmunk (chipmunk heart attack? their hearts beat awfully fast) and put it out of its furry little misery. There is no way my bumbling fool of a cat has the capacity to stalk, catch, and kill a chipmunk. Those things are super speedy.
Either way, I’m torn between being super proud of him for managing this extraordinary feat, and being horrified that my little baby kitty killed a cute little chipmunk.