Every day I’m out in the fields, searching for prey. Today I spent the morning crouched over a hole, scarcely breathing. Can they smell me, the way I can smell them? The scent fills my nostrils and his neck is in my mouth before I realize it. I shake and he thrashes; he’s gone in an instant.

I munch on this one for awhile; his meat isn’t what the boy deserves. Too old, too many bones; the boy needs choicer cuts than this. This was good exercise. I worked for my breakfast.

I can’t climb trees as well as I used to, but I’m up the trunk of this one quick enough. I make my way to the center of the branch and survey my options. Hmm. Right here in the tree are some decent opportunities.

The squirrel escapes into his hole before I grab him; maybe he can scent better than the mole. I make some futile grabs into the tree, but he’s tucked safely away in there, and I only succeed in dislodging some acorns.

The bird two branches above me is tempting. The flyers are high risk, low reward. Easy to break a leg or end up in a thorn bush. Still, the robin is so complacent and plump. I crash through the branch and knock him flailing to the ground. He’s finished in two bites.

A ray of sun beckons me. I stretch out and yawn, curling up on a warm patch of grass. I am utterly safe to sleep in the open here. I am the ultimate predator; no one preys on me.

When I wake from peaceful dreams, I find a pool of rainwater to lap. The boy will be home from school soon, and needs a gift to show what he means to me. I take some time and groom myself carefully, inspecting every inch. If I'm to perform at my peak, I must look my best.

A dog in the yard next door tests my patience. I ignore her barks as long as credibility allows, then issue a few discreet hisses. She's soon collected safely indoors and I return to my hunt.

There it is. Tufts of gray fur moving over the too long grass. A rabbit would be perfect for the boy, and would rid the world of one more of my hated enemy. So blithe and unbothered, yet beloved: rabbits infuriate me.

I flatten out, practically invisible. The rabbit draws close, closer. I leap, too soon, giving time for the rabbit to see me and reverse course. Not fast enough. With a few bonds I'm on top of the rabbit, and the ultra high pitched wails are silent.

This meat is a gift, not a meal. The boy has arrived from school, and I trot to him, bearing the carcass in my strong jaws.

"Mittens? Again?" He turns to his mother and buries his head in her dress.

The woman speaks to me. "Now Mittens, we don't need you doing that. Let go of that bunny and get in the house."

I do as ordered, surrendering in humiliation and retreating to the laundry room. An entire day wasted. My talents are not appreciated.

"Hey Mittens?" The boy comes in and picks me up. "You're a good kitty. Don't kill anymore bunnies. You're my kitty. That's a good kitty."

I purr, despite myself, as he rubs under my chin. At the end of the day, I am a good kitty.