While making a cup of coffee earlier, my youngest daughter ran into the kitchen, pointing into the garden as she ran – our little black rescue-cat was stalking two hapless pigeons. He was crouched, flat to the floor behind a bag of garden cuttings, while they pecked around in the undergrowth on the opposite side.
After perhaps a minute of waiting, waiting some more, and waiting even longer, we all gathered by the windows, watching him. He finally exploded from his hiding place, and grabbed one of the pigeons at it tried to escape in a silent cloud of feathers.
The next few moments was unintentionally hilarious. My other half ran from the back door, waving her arms at him, ordering him to let the pigeon go (it was still alive, although slightly dishevelled, and hanging from his mouth by one of it’s shoulders). He ran across the garden with it, struggling to carry it, and vanished under a nearby hedge.
We didn’t see what happened to it after that, and he didn’t come home for anything to eat at lunchtime. I think we can work it out.