RIP Bluebell, one of our three young hens. She just had her head torn off by a neighborhood cat. Nora went outside to check on the chickens, who were in their cage on the ground, and saw the cat tear off the head of Bluebell, who apparently got her head through the wire, whereupon the cat chomped it.
Quite a moment for a little girl. And for a little chicken, it appears. An little ex-chicken.
It is hard to capture in words the volcanic anti-feline rage that Mrs. Dreher is now experiencing. I’m basically inside now, typing this from under a desk. She told sobbing Nora the truth, which is that this sort of thing is in the nature of cats, and it doesn’t mean that the cat is bad. Still, I would not want to be a neighborhood puss passing through our yard from now on.
“It’s on,” she just growled, and I think that might have been smoke coming out of her ears.
It’s “release the hounds” time. Roscoe hates kitties. It’s also time to unleash the AirSoft guns in a cattish direction.
Nora’s still out there crying. I’ve held her, Julie’s holding her now. It’s one of those moments every kid who has animals has to deal with, but damn, we didn’t see that coming.