Here you can see the spoiled domestic fluffball, stalking his prey across his natural habitat: a cheap Ikea rug.
Actually, a funny thing has happened to Hunter lately (not the thing where he injured my face – that wasn’t particularly funny*) – he’s learnt to play. Ralph has always played in the flat – in particular, he loves to chase toy mice around, dribbling them like a footballer then pouncing and returning triumphant, mouse in jaw. Hunter, however, always treated toys as enemies that must be dispatched Rambo-style, with the maximum amount of violence possible (picture here), until one of two things happen:
- He gets so excited that he vomits (yuck), or
- The toy dies a horrible death, or
- We remove the toy in an effort to prevent options 1 and 2.
Lately, though, he’s progressed past this, and he now knows that letting go of the toy snake will allow us to move it again, thus making for a more entertaining chase. I’m not sure whether this is standard cat education (albeit rather late) or the effect of domestication, but it is a relief.
* I’m assured by Helen that it was. She was good enough to stifle her laughter until I’d found medication, though.