Tuesday, 6 December 2016
One Day I'm Going to Eat You - The Serial Killers in Your House
"Creepy, she just sat there staring. I know she wants to eat me..."
Now you could say that I watch too much horror and science fiction, several hours a night when I have the time for such things... lets face it, at the moment that's most nights, my social calander is not exactly full... and that it is this which has got me feeling uneasy.
You could also say that I'm anthropomorphising just a little and projecting most probably the latest splatter outcome from what I've been watching, on to my ikle, wikle, fuffy, wuffy, kittenywittenees.
But - and some would say its a big one - sometimes my cats freak me out.
I'm reminded that I live with two crepuscular predators, domesticated perhaps, bordering on vespertine, but predators nonetheless; and like most predators they are prone to the odd opportunistic meal, which technically labels them as scavengers as well. A kill's a kill after all... nom, nom, nom, it seems a shame to let it go to waste.
Don't get me wrong, I love that my cats are predators and seemingly understand the difference between protected species and vermin.
Only last year did they cull so many mice (and one rat!) over the three month period heading into winter, that I stopped counting at 68.
68 cold, hard, mice corpses, several to clean up each morning - somebody had obviously left a bag of horse feed open somewhere nearby and seeded a population explosion, idiots; and not once BTW did the killer kitties turn their attention to the local Waxeye population, so you greenies can suck my ba...
Binky, a domesticated house cat, well camouflaged in amongst the manchester common to many households, her fluffy exterior belies the cold, hard, truth - she is a vicious killer and will eat me, given the chance.
Anyway and however, after recently cracking the 'most likely to be found eaten by their cats' joke to a good friend who is also police officer, I was a little shocked by the 'don't joke about that, I've seen it... several times...' response.
This got me thinking, my cats are actually predators and do predator things, ultimately should circumstance and tragedy combine and befall, they would actually eat me.
This has given me a new found respect for all our animal friends, especially the domesticated ones, their behaviors, and the artificial environments we set up in symbiotic symphony with them.
I mean I dig when we're all laying out on the couch and furniture together, like a little pride in the branches of some comfy baobab, fed, happy, and replete, with each other as company (what's the opposite of anthropomorphism... ah that's right, sad old git, no wait, its zoomorphism).
So don't tell me all cat species aren't social or territorial, that's just nonsense. Apart from the obvious - lions - the Bolivian Jungle Lynx is known for its complex social hierarchy and interactions, and penchant to throw just the best informal soirees.
Rex, brother to Binky, true to crepuscular form, asleep during daylight hours - and dreaming of the feast that awaits him when I kark it.
Sure cats can be solitary, morose little goths in fur suits, which makes me love them all the more, but when we all hang out together, we rest well.
Only now I've been reminded that its the continued conditioning of routine and food that keeps these little furballs on an even keel.
And to all those that insist in calling their cats 'furkids' or the like, and like me have felt that strange, creepy feeling of being watched - only to find one of the little domesticated and opportunistic serial killers in fur outfits staring at them - I say, good luck with that, nom, nom, nom, you're most probably next - they're just working out the best time to strike.
PS the real horror reported by my police friend was not the cats, it was - are you ready for this? - rabbits. And you thought they were herbivores! Cold-hearted killers every one of the little fluffy monsters!