Yesterday, as I was baking cookies with Jade, Crook brought a still-living bird into the kitchen. The poor thing was missing a leg, bleeding from the chest, and writhing in pain on the kitchen floor. Crook stared at me, as if waiting for me to do something. Quickly, I scooped the twitching bird up in a paper towel, took it outside, and put it out of its misery. After burying the bird in a pile of leaves, I returned to the kitchen, locked the cat in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon, and then swept the feathers and blood from off the floor while the cat yowled and scratched at the bathroom door, wanting to be let out. Jade witnessed all of it.
I don't want my cat to be an outdoor cat. I understand and sympathize with his urge to be outside, but as much as he drives me crazy and as much as I hate cleaning his litter box, I don't want him to get eaten by one of the local coyotes or to be scooped off by an eagle. Over the years, more than a few cats from our neighbourhood have gone missing. I also don't want him doing those things that outdoor cats do - pooing in people's gardens and senselessly killing birds and small rodents, as examples.
I know, I know, there are some cat lovers who read this blog that are thinking, "but that's what cats do! His instincts tell him to hunt!" That's all well and good, but my instincts are to keep dead rodents and near-dead birds out of my kitchen. My dog has instincts that tell him to roll in bison crap. Is that something we should have encouraged?
For the rest of the week, I will be taking drastic steps to keep the cat indoors and then maybe he'll get the hint. If any doors that lead outside the house are opened, he'll either be on a cat leash or confined to the washroom first. The latter is my preference; maybe he'll learn how to use the toilet so I can stop having to clean the litter box.
If he wants to give me a gift, that would be a gift I could appreciate.