It was just about that time of day, early afternoon, lunch time. I instinctively felt the two strays I’ve grown attached to were probably outside waiting for food. Sure enough, there they both lay waiting patiently to get some grub. I poured a moderate amount of cat food onto the ground, they walked up, rubbed aside my leg to say thanks, the red one with the busted leg giving affection and a wink, then they went quietly to eating. One stumbling over the other to get to the good stuff.
I have grown accustomed to their habits. They usually roll up at the same time of day. They sit for a spell, then lounge away, and I go back to my knitting. And on occasion I feel I’ve fed them too much, since they leave some behind. Probably saving it for later, I tell myself.
But, as I sat knitting, long after they had been eating, I heard a racket out back. The screaming shrill of birds in such a loud cacophony, I like anyone needing my quiet while working, got up to investigate. Peering out the window I saw there were perhaps half a dozen birds, darting down and swooping into the pile of food that the two strays had left behind. They rushed down, grabbed a bit then darted back up into the sky, stealing the food I had left for the cats.
A few of the birds wistfully stepped on the ground to bounce and peck at the cat food, spiking it with their beaks, tossing some kernels aside, mad dashing for others. And out of the azaleas, like snipers waiting to make their move, the two strays made an ascent, swiping at each bird they could, disabling their wings, knocking them out of flight, making them helpless. Fangs went sharp to make piercing kisses into their small necks, as the sounds of mad flapping and screaming filled the air.
There was a blood bath, I tell you. Shrieking turned to silence, the cat’s breathing and gazing became predatory and lion like. They swiped, stopped and bit into instinct, and what was left behind was carnage. Three birds were injured and maimed as the two strays conquered. And one by one, each of the winged things was picked up and carried off to a safe place to devour.
I watched the red one with the hurt leg limp along to the shade of a large bougainvillaea, look back at me, dropped the bird and winked. His insane way of saying, “Thank you.” Yes, he’s going to be just fine.
So, to all of you who were interested in an update on the two strays that have adopted me, there you have it. They’ve been using the cat food I feed them as an appetizer, and using what’s left over as lure for fresh kill. Wow. Smart little bastards.
The two strays are going to be just fine.
Happy Halloween. :)
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