She is vicious, as am I. Never have I met another cat who had such aggression within it. She’s a bitch ready to lash out with her claws so swiftly you’ll never know what happened. Without much provocation at all, she can attack. You might have laughed too loudly, accidentally ignored her, or stroked her fur in the wrong way. Her reasons might be many, and her justice is swift. She’s arrogant, snobbish, and gorgeously wicked. Our eyes meet, and we both laugh. We have our fights - this must be admitted. She bites me, I hiss at her, she lashes out with her talons, and I grab her by the scruff of her neck to push her down. Yes, we have our fights, and I have the scars to prove it. We scream and curse, we roar and insult. And then, half an hour later, one of us will sneak over to the other and silently beg for forgiveness. Together we will curl up, and know that in all of the world, there is no one that would understand us as well as we do. She’s a feral beast, my princess. She’s caught all sorts of poor animals. Magpies, rats, rabbits, mice, seagulls… you name it. She drags them old home to show her family, and we all shudder and think it disgusting. On the other hand, we’re also aware of the fact that you must congratulate the cat on its success, and pretend to be happy. So we do. But I know that SHE knows I do not like it. She’s just trying to prove to me that it’s not so bad, eating meat. I’m a vegetarian, see. She must just /love/ dragging those hapless little birds into my room and slaughter them on my floor. Must be her revenge on me for taking boys home. I bring home my prey - and she hers.