Hard-wired

Watching The Runt and Little Girl play with their various prey, I got to thinking about the hunting instinct.

You see, these cats came from a shelter. I got them, their brother and sister, and their mom as a foster when the kittens were wee. Their eyes had opened, and they were just starting to explore the world. Momma was feral; the entire time I fostered them, she only let me touch her once or twice.

Because they were fosters, I kept them inside the whole time I had them. Momma had no opportunity to teach her little babies how to stalk and kill prey.

But somehow, they knew. When I decided to keep The Runt and Little Girl, after the others had gone back to the shelter (their brother and sister were put up for adoption; Momma went to be a barn cat as she was too wild to be a house pet), I started letting them outside.

And they started hunting. And catching stuff. And (sometimes) eating it.

They didn't need Momma to teach them. They just knew. And I don't know how much patience it must take to catch a flippin' wild bird, but they've got it.

Do I feel bad for what they catch? Yes. Especially the birds. I love birds. I would gladly have a yard full of bird feeders and bird houses if not for the fact that, well, I have cats. Setting up bird feeders in yard with cats hardly seems fair.

And I wish, if they are going to hunt, they'd at least eat what they catch. A lot of the time, they just play with it until it's dead, and then walk away.

Other than keeping them inside, which I am not willing to do, I really can't control what they do.

They're animals, after all. It's in their nature.

But I will admit to getting tired of being on corpse-removal detail when they bring the stuff into the house.