I’ve had a pretty traumatic morning and I haven’t even been to the opticians yet,..
Everything started out relatively normally; the cat – we’ll call him Sydney (primarily because that is his name…) – was meowing at me incessantly to go outside. It’s been a while since he was out, so I thought, ‘why not?’ He shot out the door and the first thing he did was run for a white butterfly that was merrily flitting about the garden. There was nothing I could do, it all happened so fast as I watched him trap it in his claws and slam it to the ground before he started to tear at its little wings with his razor sharp fangs. It was brutal, but when I had gotten over the initial shock, I ran at him and tore him away from the injured creature and scooped it up in my hands. The terrible beast had torn some of its delicate white wing. Tears flooded everywhere as I fell to my knees and cried to the heavens, “Why, God, why?!”, holding the butterfly up above my head, hoping for some beam of light to shoot from the clouds and heal him.
Well, this isn’t exactly how the events played out, admittedly I may have got a little carried away, but it was traumatic all the same. Traumatic in a ‘agh, you poor butterfly’ kinda way. It did sit in my hands for a while, looking like it was just trying to get its breath back and then I sat it on top of the guinea pig hutch. Eventually it clumsily flew away on top of the kitchen. I’d brought Sydney inside by this point, but he was begging me to go back outside, so I let him. Five minutes later, he’d caught another white butterfly but when I’d grabbed him, he’d learnt from last time and had already eaten it. Ugh, I’m all depressed now. You forget that cats are natural predators when they wake you up on a morning by purring and nuzzling you with their cute and fluffy yet apparent;y sadistic face. -_- Don’t trust cats.