Kudos to you for not dropping or flinging the cat down a flight of stairs. I wish I could say I wouldn't have dropped or flung the cat, but I am pretty sure I would have.

There's really nothing quite like finding yourself eye to glazed eye with a dead mouse at 2:30 a.m.

Gah. That's enough to give you the permanent heebie-jeebies.

I am torn between wanting to laugh at the word picture and sadness for the poor wee mousie.

Ha. Reminds me of how my cat used to come back into the house during the night through my bedroom window. Patting on the window in winter for me to let him in.

Once in summer I woke up from deep sleep around 3 AM from some grating noises quite closeby. It took some moments for my sleep addled brain to find out where I was and where the sound was coming from. It seemed to be coming from under the bed. And there I found my cat munching on a dove.
My cat was reluctant to give up his prize or go outside with it. So I had to chase him quite a bit with his bleeding feather-losing meal.
My cat used to eat pigeons until they were hollow carcasses. It's something he learned from when he was lost for 5 weeks.

That was annoying but also rather funny in imagining what I looked like in my underwear chasing the cat in the middle of the night.

What I really didn't like is when he came home with a blackbird that was still alive. I took the bird from him. When I opened the cage of my fingers a bit to peer at the weightless ball of feathers within I noticed that its chest was making big heaving motions. Then I noticed that it's entrails where hanging out.
I didn't know what to do. I told myself I should kill the bird. Put it out of its misery. But I couldn't bring myself to do that.
So I'm ashamed to say I gave the little bird back to the cat. Urging it to finish what it started.

My dad had a cat which was an accomplished hunter, and it spent quite a lot of time outside his home decimating the local rodent and bird population. It loved the heads best, meaning visiting him almost always meant finding decapitated bodies of small animals lying around outside. We resorted to macabre jokes because it was . . . rather horrible.

yuck!

At least he didn't leave it on your pillow. ; )

(They like to bring gifts.)

Trilby isn't one to gift food. He considers himself perpetually starved and tries to steal my food every time I eat a meal.

Jon does the same with me. : 0

Cats. Men.

You people just don't appreciate fine cuisine. Also, my bowl is empty at least 99.998% of the time. That is the horrifying news we should be discussing.