The breakfast guest

Munchkin, the sleek, delicate, grey and white almost angora cat of my housemate, I suspect, pictures herself cast as a lioness in a Richard Attenborough nature film. She can probably see herself pounding across the plain and bringing down a zebra or wildebeest.

In Corsier Port zebras are not common and wildebeests less so, so she contents herself with smaller prey. Occasionally she goes airborne snaring a bird that has the audacity (or stupidity) to fly too low across her garden.

We have witnessed her prowess often because the office window looks out on her hunting domain.

In the house she reverts to a sweet-little thing. Therefore, it was not a surprise to enter the kitchen and see her sitting calmly, not in killer-strike pose and with no clicking of jaws as all cats are prone to do when about to kill. What was totally unmunchkinlike was to follow where she was looking. In her food dish a small brown, apparently uninjured mouse was jawing down her kitty food.

Did she issue a breakfast invitation? Did he turn up unexpectedly and she decided to be a good hostess? Was she fattening him up for a later snack?

Sadly, as bright as she is, her verbal skills do not allow for direct questions and answers.

Munchkin was invited to leave the room and the mouse was invited to leave the house, but not before a picture of the domestic scene had been snapped.