It is another blisteringly hot Auckland day today, and my cats are all stretched out in the shadiest spots they can find, moving only when the passage of the sun dictates. Marvin in particular suffers during summer, although his coat is the shortest it is also the most dense (rather like him, I am afraid!), and on days like this his slothfulness knows no bounds.
Marvin wasn't always like this however - six years ago he was a frisky, bristly, playful, clumsy kitten (ok he's still clumsy). One particular day when he was only a few months old I heard him come barrelling in through the cat door and rowl for me in that voice that cats do when they've brought you a present. Sighing, I headed for the dining room, preparing myself for the carnage I would find, and there was Marvin proud as punch in the middle of the dining room rowling expectantly and standing over his prey. The look on his face said it all - 'look mum, I caught it, and I killed it, and I brought it for you, and I'm so clever, aren't I mum?'.
And his prey? One very large, very dead ... leaf!
He went on to be a great hunter, who brought us all manner of things (including, on two separate occasions, tuis). At the ripe old age of six he no longer hunts (obviously that would require too much energy), but I still like to remind him of his first big kill!
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