His brothers are all excellent hunters and have been bringing home dead birds for months now - hearing Deb describe what it is like to wake up and find a bloody dead bird at the foot of the bed has always made me enormously grateful that neither of mine seemed capable of catching anything! Poppy, at least, I hope never will - she isn't coordinated enough, bless her. But now that Alfie has had a taste of what it feels like to catch live prey...

When we were growing up, if the cats brought anything home, Mum would just shut it in the kitchen and wait for us to come home from school and make us dispose of it! We soon learned not to be squeamish, simply because she was! But I'd rather not go back to that, if it's all the same to Alfie. *G*