Something went down on Tuesday night. I slept through it but it must have been a humdinger. When we got up on Wednesday morning the only evidence was a small “Jack B Little” pumpkin on the floor. With bite and claw marks.
The pumpkin was part of a group that was on the dining room table. (That’s the table where that cats are forbidden to go.) None of the others had punctures. I can only envision what happened.
The great pumpkin hunter came through and cut one off from the herd, the same way the mighty lions do on the Savannah. The old or the weak or the young. The hunter batted it on the floor. The pumpkin fought back. It was a valiant fight. The pumpkin survived with only puncture wounds that sadly would hasten decomposition.
Who was the hunter? Was it the same cat that decapitated the mouse? The pumpkins have been here for over a month and no one has shown interest. Hard to say who. Another mystery of life!