I accidentally let in a miller when I took out the trash this morning. The boys may have been sleepy up to that point (a bit after 4 AM), but the moment Andy first noticed a live moth in the room, mayhem ensued.
Yep, mayhem ensued!
Andy chased the miller to the top of the cat tree, where he pounced and pinned it. The carpet on the cat tree apparently gave the miller just enough wiggle room, though, to escape my little predator’s razor claws of death. Mrow!
Off it flew, a bit battered but — better believe it — a bit smarter!
But not smart enough! Dougy spotted the miller on the wall by the dining room table, and chased it onto the table, where it landed on top of a precariously piled stack of periodicals.
Dougy, no petite cat, then prowled around on the tabletop till his perilous pawhold on a clutter of papers and things yielded to an opportunity to knock things over or to pounce the prey he and Andy positively would eat raw if possible!
POW! Another pouncing claw of death descended on the pitiful, poor prey!
But this time, Dougy caught the little bugger! And promptly chewed it up and swallowed it. Right in front of Andy! Andy was scandalized, though I’m sure he wouldn’t save a nibble or two for his brother either. Not if that nibble was a juicy miller moth! Nope! Not a juicy miller!
The miller is the adult form of the notorious garden pest, the army cutworm, so I approve of this recidivist behavior in my cats: Once a killer, always a killer, eh!?
Good boys! The miller slipped into the house slightly after 4 AM, and the boys chased, pounced, captured, and ate it, all within five minutes! You get the next one, Andy. Promise!