I have three cats. My eldest daughter and I went to the shelter to pick out A cat, I fell for a long haired siamese/tabby mix female, my daughter just had to have the big white male. Both were rescued trailer park dumpster kitties, four - six months old. My female is a killer, as in a CIA assasin type killer. I have seen her leap out of a tree/off the roof and catch a bird in mid air. Impressive. It’s no longer a daily event, as she is well fed and content in the fact that she no longer needs to kill to survive. As an aside, she was very wild when we brought her home, and it has taken six years for her to become a housepet. The big male likes to take down the occasional bird/rodent, but he hasn’t the passion for hunting that my female has.
The kitty which brought me the wharf rat was a five pound kitty, and as I stated, the rat was larger than she was, minus his head and not including his tail. We got her from a friend’s litter and she never needed to hunt for food. She is a tough kitty. She now lives with the neighbor, as she doesn’t care for my dogs.
Then there is handicapped kitty. No interest in hunting whatsoever. My daughter took her from another of the above mentioned friend’s litter, and she was injured as a very young kitty. Although in good health now she is very gimpy in the hind end, and is content to find a spot in the sun and watch the birds fly by.
(BTW, I finally convinced above mentioned friend to have her cat spayed)
I conclude that the hunting instinct varies in strength from individual cat personalities, as well as their circumstances. JMNSHO!
Oh, and I must comment on the demise of the greenhouse kitty, poor thing. What a horrible traumatic event! Reminds me of a Stephen King short story, the title of which escapes me at the moment, but it involved cleaning the basement of a textile mill and mutant rats…shiver
My brother’s bedroom was in my parents basement. One night, he heard Josie the Pussycat having a tremendous battle in the garage side. Much wailing and spitting. Later, when all is quiet, he feels Josie jump on the bed. As he’s falling back to sleep, he hears her purr and snuffle and she won’t be still. So, he turns on the light to the lovely Godfatherish tableau of bloody sheets and the top half of a partially eaten wharf rat. That’ll wake you up.
At DeHouse, we used to let the cats play outside in the morning as we got ready for work. One morning, I hear high pitched squealing in the hallway. Boy Kitty is dragging something very large into his food-bowl and trying to hide it from me. But I can see the long hairless tail whipping furiously around. Picture this: I’m screaming cause there’s a rat in my house, Rat is screaming because the cat is eating him, and Boy Kitty is screaming (as much as he can with a mouth full of rat) because he knows I’m going to take his toy away. And DeHusband comes running out of the bathroom, naked and dripping wet, wondering what the hell is going on. The cats aren’t allowed outside any more.
As a young’un once we were put to bed, we were to stay in bed, no if’s and’s or but’s, unless it was a quick potty trip. No bothering of the adults “quiet time”.
I was five years old when my grandparents purchased a fixer-upper farm house. I was put to bed in the room which had the door which lead to the attic. Gramma had a beautiful grey cat, and she loved me, but not my brothers. (the cat, not gramma!) So when she pushed open the attic door and jumped on my bed I was happy for the company. Until she let go of a creature, which began beating about on the bed and ultimately around the bedroom.
I went to the bedroom door and urgently whispered “Mom!” several times before anyone noticed me. After I explained that there really was a “monster” in the room the adults came in to investigate. The cat had caught a BAT, injuring it only slightly, and it was making crazed laps around the ceiling.
Pandemonium ensued.
It was impressive to my young self to watch the men in the family attempt to catch the bat, as the women huddled around me. As I recall it took my dad with a broom and my uncle with a pillowcase, with much leaping and cussing before the critter was captured, and my grandpa had the “honor” of dispatching the critter.
Males do lie around and look important, but they definitely can hunt, too. While I was growing up we had about four cats, indoor/outdoor, who each lasted between one and two years before being caught and killed, presumably, by coyotes. Then we had one tomcat who managed to stay alive for 19 years, thus surviving well into my adulthood. This one didn’t bring us gifts, but about once a month there’d be a dead bird or rodent on the lawn. Usually just a small portion around the middle seemed to have been eaten; he must have just been interested in certain variety meats while leaving the rest lying there. No birds nested anywhere near the house during his reign. He also liked lizards; sometimes gulping them down whole if they were small enough.