The Intrepid Hunter

(I promise to lay off the natural child birth talk for a while, ok? Moving on!)

As I've mentioned, we have a friend staying with us for the month. Eric is, by all accounts, a lovely person. Ask anyone who knows him and I'm sure you'll hear nothing but positive accolades. And his charms don't only extend to the human realm, either!

This is our cat Simon. He's a good, old kitty who has been with us since the summer of 1998. When we got him he was somewhere between one and three years old, which makes him somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve to fourteen years old today.

For nine of the eleven years we have been Simon's family, he has been an indoor cat. We always lived in apartments or condos, so he had very limited availability to the outside world. Unless he could somehow figure out how to operate an elevator. On the rare occasion he would find himself in nature, well, he would freak.

Until we moved into this house. For some reason, the yard and world at large became unbearably appealing to him once there was only one door between him and the grass. Helping things are my children, who are always more than happy to open up the door for him.

In the past two years, the cat has, from time to time, deposited a fresh kill on our doorstep. Mostly mice, but we also get the occasional bird. I'd say less than two dozen times, so about once a month.

Even though he came to us claw-less, he has always been an avid hunter. Any bug of substantial size was fair game, and then there was the time we had the gypsy neighbors. It's a loooooooongs story, but needless to say that was the only other time he caught mice.

But now? Ever since Eric has been here? It's a mouse a day. Sometimes two. And sometimes a bird as well. It's like he's in lurve or something. I haven't felt as though we've been neglecting him, but apparently he thinks differently. Or maybe the cat just thinks we brought in a new human just for him.

Either way, I'm getting sick of it. Carcasses litter our doorways. Our trash cans reek of death. And when SOB is on call, guess who has to gather up the tiny, lifeless fur balls?

I'm actually kind of thankful for this heat wave, because the cat stays inside when it's over 90 degrees. If that's how we get no rodent sacrifices, then bring on the heat!

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If you get a chance, and you're interested, visit my new photo blog 50 Faces @ 50mm.