Blair informed me that Snowball, our recently adopted cat, left a dead squirrel on on our front porch the other morning. Not decapitated, but a fully grown dead squirrel.
My eyes filled with tears.
"See, that's why I didn't tell you," said Blair. "I didn't want to upset you." He reached to embrace me but I brushed by him and grabbed Snowball, smothering him with kisses.
"That is so sweet," I cried, pressing my face into his fur. "He loves us. He really, really loves us."
"You're not upset about the squirrel?" Blair looked doubtful.
"Are you kidding me?" I gave Snowball more kisses, even though he was exhibiting the tail-twitching that signaled he was just about done with that level of affection and was close to attack mode. "Who loves their Mommy? Who's a good boy? Who's a good kitty?"
"Do we really want to encourage sadistic tendencies in the cats?" asked Blair.
I don't care. Snowball has never brought us a kill before and I do think it's the sweetest thing, ever. Fills me with a warm fuzzy feeling every time I think about it. I said so to Blair.
"Fine," he said. "Next time, you dispose of the squirrel and see how warm and fuzzy you feel."
This is why women prefer cats over men. Less backtalk. ;)