We got the cat to eat the mice, that ate the rice... and as it turns out, the walnuts but he is seems to have developed a taste for little robin red breasts. This is the second this year. The first almost got away. The cat chased him through the house into the laundry and I watched in that slo-mo crouching tiger hidden dragon kind of way as the bird slew through the air past my eyes, every tiny detail of his feathers in full sharp focus, the cat arcing through the air below him, tracking him with his locked on eyes. I turned and smiled. He was going to make it. Through the door. Escape outside. But he's a bird and rather than choosing the big empty half of the doorway he chose one of the tiny dusty, dirty little glass frames. In the nano second that he lay stunned on the floor the cat had him and made off, with me running behind slapping him with a damp towel. And the cat looked at me, the bird in his teeth, and the bird looked at me with his big eyes. One saying "Why are you hitting me?" and the other? I don't know – I can make a guess at Emmenthal's thought process but a bird? He looked pretty sad. The towel didn't indicate to the cat that I really would like him NOT to kill the bird so, a little miffed at his unjustified punishment, off he went with his prize.