June 26th 2009 10:27 am
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I thought they would be proud! But, non. Evidemment, they are offended. It seems they want me to hunt, yes. But they would prefer that I restrict my ministrations to les rodents. And they would particularly prefer that I not bring my little playmates in through le catdoor in the middle of the night for, shall we say--purrrrrrrrrrr, purrrr, purr--le gran sleepover.
Pfffft!, I say. To be a chat, it is to be a killer. Not a dainty, selective killer. Non! It is to be--how shall we say it?--an equal opportunity killer. If a salamander should present itself to my claws, am I to deny it? Mais non! He must receive equal treatment. And if his blood soaks in, a little bit, to the hardwood floor... pish what is that to me? Less than nothing. And if, two nights in a row, some little bird, it should cross my path? Well. The little bird, it will be found lifeless among its lovely feathers on the living room rug in the morning. That is the way of things.
Do not look to me to deny my nature.
And to sleep the sleep of the hunter, with just a trace of blood on the palette... ah, delightful! I shall have to ask le Dex-tair what shadows taste like.
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