Dan and I have been adopted by a snaggle-toothed black and white cat. She sauntered into our house one afternoon while we were unpacking and proceeded to use our living room sofa as a scratching post. She’s obese and declawed, both of which suggest an owner — but there’s no collar, and she drops by at odd hours. I named her Karaoke based on my belief that calling a cat should be fun. And it is fun. I open the screen door and shout “Karaoke!” Karaoke!” into the dark of night, in hopes that some drunk hippie might appear on our porch all fired up to sing Country Joe and The Fish.
Cute, right? Makes you want to cuddle with her in a papasan chair, maybe have her knead your lap while you sip on Sleepytime and read Lilian Jackson Braun — until you realize this is a picture Dan took of Karaoke killing a baby bunny. The salad on her chin is for show. There’s blood-lust in those almond eyes.
For two nights in a row, Karaoke has brought us dinner. Tuesday’s bunny almost made it into the house. Dan and I were watching The X-files , so you can imagine just how much higher I jumped with that theme song in the background. Also, I think Karaoke is part of a large government conspiracy.
Dan documented Kitty’s First Picnic on camera.
Dan created a Picasa album simply titled: “Karaoke Hunts a Bunny.” It lets our friends and family see how busy we are in Iowa. Think of it as The Velveteen Rabbit in reverse.
I didn’t know how to stop the slaughter, so I ran into the kitchen and came back with a can of tuna. In retrospect, it wasn’t the brightest idea to use Chicken of the Sea as a diversionary tactic, but what can I say. I panicked.
Now she expects surf and turf.
There are a few shots of me, barefoot and pigeon-toed, in my gaudy vacation dress, holding a dustpan, trying to figure out what exactly one does with a dying bunny.
(One should leave it alone?)
It’s supposedly a sign of great affection for your cat to bring you its prey. I did a lot of online reading . Spayed females in particular see a meal “to-go” as an opportunity to school you in the ways of the hunt. It’s half carnivorous instinct, half maternal. You’re an owner but you’re also a kitten. I guess I can relate to that. I like to bake banana bread for Dan and serve it on kid sized plates. And Dan did just buy the child’s tool kit, in the shape of a truck, from Ace Hardware. After he assembled my bookshelf, he packed up his tools and went “Vroom, vroom.” (Man, that one’s gonna cost me.)