The Cat that Ate the Cricket (boring)

One day during a cold autumn breeze I put my cat outside for her daily dose of sunshine. I don’t like cleaning the litter box either. Some minutes later I chanced to peek out the window, and what did I see but the cat darting across the back porch, and back, and again, like she was chasing her tail. I moved closer to the window to get a better view of this momentous occasion, and peering down at the ground I saw the cricket. It was a large cricket, possibly a grasshopper, bouncing around in the leaf-covered grass, the cat hot on its... tail. She caught the hopper suddenly, by a wing, and she turned right up at the window like she knew I was there and was showing off. Eew. It slipped out of her maw to feebly crawl back into the grass, she watched it until it was a few inches away, then she pounced and caught it again. I watched in wonder, thinking it would escape again and run for its life. In my backyard, in real life, it’s not like the movies. It’s over far too fast. In two bites she swallowed the hopper, licked her chops, then looked up at me, her cute doe-eyes so innocent. To her it was no more than if I’d dropped a cheerio out of my bowl on the table and grabbed it to throw in my mouth, not like she was a hero conquering a villain, more like a housewife chopping onions for dinner. No thought, no consequence, no more than a few minutes did it matter. Life depends so much on your perspective. When I let her in later, I pet her and gave her a hug, the cat that ate the cricket.