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Muscles taunt, back arched. A soft hiss falls from you lips, as you watch a murder of crows fly by.
Springing into the air like a wingless bat, paws out, talons elevated, accepting the juicy substance of your prey. Whiskers twitch, you batter the bloody carcass taking a little bite. Primeval dance, head held high, tail sways. Tossing the squealing toy, then reaching into the air with white speckled paws. Pulling the quivering crow down to the blood-misted ground.
An offered gift at your mistress's feet.
And what is her reply?
No rewarding pat or saucer or milk.
Hey, what about your pie?
Just screams, piercing shrikes mixed with
a few, "you naughty kitties."
Ears down, symphony of sad meows echo behind. You slink back to the field. Where the mice wait, elation overwhelms you, as you dart all around. Mitts pushing you closer to those scattering mice. You'll catch your mistress a big mouse and then you will have a rewarding pat, a saucer of milk, maybe even some pie.
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