If it looks like a mouse, and smells like a mouse...??
|The second time our veterinary surgeon treated our beautiful black cat after being rolled over multiple times by yet another car, he questioned our choice of names. “Speedy?” he asked.
“Funny you should ask that… hey, he’s still alive, isn’t he? Just speedy enough. hey?!?”
The vet agreed. Speedy had no more than a few scratches, a nail or two and a tooth missing. His name came from being the first of his litter to run, ending with a triple forward somersault —repeated every time... for a while.
We kept our Speedy-boy when his siblings went to their forever homes, unable to see his Mum, Smokey, bereft of all her babies. She was the greatest hunter we'd owned, her highly-skilled prowess ensuring she constantly brought her handsome son tasty tidbits, from the tiniest of mice, slowly increasing his donated prey.
Gorgeous Speedy was also the biggest slob known… not only accepting all gifts from his poor old mother with nary a thank you or even a fleeting nod of gratitude, but also dedicated to a slow drip-drip-drip of dribble to match his outboard-motor purring. A wadded-up facewasher beneath his chin was essential for any wannabe cuddlers (and the queue stretched into the next room to be one of the ‘chosen’ ones!).
At last Speedy made his first own ‘catch’. Proudly, he pranced to us with a real mouse hanging out one side of his mouth and a constant - “Look at me! Look at me!” - pouring out the other. When the response was laughter, Speedy looked puzzled and then annoyed at not being fabulously feted with swooning hero worship.
He just didn’t ‘get’ it that catching a dead mouse in a mousetrap is NOT the hallmark of a Great Black Hunter.