moses malone barker, hunter at large

Remember this sweet little kitty? Baby Mo. So sweet.

Yeah well he no longer exists. He has been replaced with this evil version.

My friend Mel has cats she calls 'feral', but frankly, all I've ever seen them do is lay around on her bed, and occasionally lick her running shoes.

Mo, on the other hand, spends his days hunting in the backyard. He is Public Enemy # 1 with the bird population back there. Yesterday there were about 40 anger-crazed sparrows screaming death threats to Mo, who simply couldn't be bothered with them. He was too busy
torturing one of their own.

I wouldn't actually mind if he was killing the birds instantly and eating them. But he's not. He seizes the little birdies, injuring them so they cannot fly away, and then bats them around and chews on them. If they lay still, faking death to avoid further brutality, he sort of punks them with his paw, until they try to get away. Then he pounces on them again. It's seriously twisted.

And THE WORST thing he does is bring his booty into the house in order to show off. Many a morning I have awoken to the sound of bird bones crunching in Mo's teeth. ON MY BED. There are just so many ways this is wrong.

Yet...I love that cat. I do. Do not ask me to explain it. Shaddie--who cowers and skulks around the house now, never knowing when he is going to be attacked from above--just looks at me and shrugs. Mo rules. And everybody knows it.