We were musing last night on how the kittens would behave when confronted with wildlife, as we tormented played with them with a bird on a wire (a toy! bird, I hasten to add).
Ron just sorted of batted it, but Henry went straight for the back of the neck of this thing (it’s remarkably realistic – I must video them with it).
And lo, we talked it up – Ron came in this morning with his first catch, a small finch (I think). He hadn’t killed it, but had it grasped firmly in his mouth, and when I picked him up to try to make him drop the unfortunate bird, he was going “thrum” in a most thrumming manner.
He wouldn’t drop it, and instead got away from me and legged it up the stairs, where Pete caught him, picked him up and scruffed him. Whereupon Ron opened his mouth to scream in rage, the bird seized the opportunity and flew down the stairs, past my face, and landed in the shopping bag hanging from the rack in the hall.
With some presence of mind, Pete kept hold of the infuriated Ron, and I legged it through the house and out the patio doors, and decanted the bird amongst the flower pots, shutting the door firmly behind me when I came back in.
Had Henry had the bird, I think he would have killed it, killed it dead – playing with it isn’t his style. But Ron has had his toy taken away, and he is officially Not Pleased.
Click the image for a bigger version – I thought I’d spare you the full horror of a large picture.
|Originally published at the Tribe.|