Love is a Dead Chipmunk

Everyone has their own way of expressing affection for another. Dora, our daughter's cat, kills things and then gives them to you. I have tried to figure out what her motives are and I've got it boiled down to two possibilities. She is either a very religious cat steeped in the traditions of the Old Testament or a gangster kitty.

It would suit me better if she thought I was the god of Meow Mix and the sacrificial birds, bugs and rodents were gifts to make sure I keep filling the cat bowl. But somehow I get the impression she just likes to "off" other creatures - it's in her post guillotine swagger.

I must say that I am quite impressed with how advanced she has become in her thirst for blood. As a kitten she practiced on insects - grasshoppers, butterflies, bumble bees. A year later she was robbing the bird's nest and carving up fledgling chicks before they could take flight. Last year she graduated to ambushing any bird stupid enough to land in the grapevine. Very proud of her accomplishments she brought into the house wounded, but living wrens, bluejays, cardinals, woodpeckers and warblers. On occasion we had to dust off our Peterson's Field Guide to North American Birds to identify an avian carcass.

But I am starting to get a little worried. This morning when I awoke from a comfortable sleep, I stepped out of bed to find a furry headless chipmunk laying next to my slippers. Nearby lay a proud and purring killer cat!

If I were Truffle, I'd sleep with one eye open from now on.