I had the most adorable little cat. She strutted around the world as if everyone loved her as much as she loved everyone. It was contagious. She was a little ray of sunshine with 4 legs and black fur. Exuding cuteness, her personality allowed her to get away with a lot. One day, some friends dropped by after a walk. They sat on the couch and I handed them needed glasses of water and we started talking. The Short One woke up and had to check out the company. She stretched, jumped up onto the couch, walked along the back, hopped down onto a cushion and walked onto the fellow’s leg and began drinking out of his glass, which was resting conveniently on his leg. She then hopped down and rubbed his leg before walking off and he started laughing, “that’s so cute!” She managed to charm everyone. She was snuggly, purred readily, was gentle, used to curl up next to my head at night — the perfect little pet, a wonderful little companion.
One morning, we woke up early to the sounds of sliding cats banging into walls (we had 2 of the critters at the time). We got up to investigate the commotion and discovered The Short One with a mouse hanging out of her mouth. We had had absolutely no idea that she had that in her. We had forgotten that inside the perfect little pet lived a predator, which made her, in the right circumstances, a natural born killer.
While talking to the cheetah keeper the other day, we started talking about the rest of the zoo animals and how sometimes hapless local wildlife, such as Canada Geese, become unintentional participants in zoo animal “enrichment.” Turns out that the previous week a couple of ducks had landed in the otter pool, and, well, did you know that otters include duck in their diet?
