The cat initiated a game of International Rescue. She was
the Hood, leaping from the long grass with murder in mind and baby frogs in her
sights. I was the various Thunderbirds flying to the rescue, scooping baby
frogs back into the pond.
The Hood might be thwarted but never defeated and eventually
retreated to the beck. I edited and forgot about cats, Hoods and F.A.B flying
craft.
Then the Hood in feline form flew out from the beck
clutching a baby rat, streaked into the house pursued by the dog and dropped
the rat which ran for cover and got away. The message was clear. For every baby
frog rescued, a live rat will be added to the household.
It’s not like the cat to think outside the box (she prefers
to sleep inside the box). Now night closes in with the cat in her favourite
place, the dog asleep and the rat making itself at home behind the skirting
board.
