What was surprising is that Midnight, our arthritic old cat with the paralyzed tail, was actually a good huntress. She caught frogs and toads and ate them (Pepper Mill is still grossed out by her memory of Midnight with a frog hand sticking out of her mouth). She caught snakes. She caught a giant cecropia moth and paraded it around in front of the other cats ("I have a Giant Moth and you don’t!) before chowing down on it with much crunching of chitin. And not long before she died she finally managed to capture a chipmunk. Alive. She was so disappointed that we wouldn’t let her bring it into the house and show it off. But I was afraid it’d get loose, and I didn’t want a chipmunk running around a house full of cats.