I must start by saying that my cats are both beautiful.
Tory, the elder, is sleek, elegant and aloof like some Egyptian Cat Goddess. She moves gracefully, almost floating, as she stalks her prey. She is grey like the shadow on a sketch, with white paws and tail-tip and shirt-front chest.
Libby, the little one, is soft and purry, and loves to smooch. Her fur is graduated in all shades from brown to peach and her eyes are yellow. She snoozes, until she catches sight of movement, then she's away, a streak of teeth and claws.
They are very, very different from each other, but they are both fine hunters.
Now, living in the country as we do, and being adamant and commited recyclers, we have always tended to have a problem with mice.
The cats decimated the population, and scared them off, so we had no more mice in the house. I was delighted.
Until...
They discovered there were no more mobile toys to chase up and down the wooden floors of the hallway at four o'clock in the morning.
And they found the compost pile and the mice nesting there.
And they started bringing them in to play with.
SIGH