Murderland

So the good news is, I've found that story kick I needed. And the bad news is I am in an abattoir. It's insane!

More dead birds. First this morning, a terrible scream from the top of the stairs, I rush up and find little she-cat with a victim; birdy is clearly losing life, so much so, Surya lets me have it, she couldn't care less. Poor thing, its life trickling out of it, feeling it, thinking how horrible to die with some stinking thing holding you, so I left it on the windowsill for the last few seconds, dying in sunlight. Just now another squawk, this time more alive, more indignant, I rush downstairs to see both my monsters prowling with intent around the shoe rack. Sure enough, a young starling, furious but able to fly. I grabbed it and put it at the window where it has shot off, doubtless to die of shock in some hedge.

I can't write! It's carnage! I love my cats, get that they are murdering mofos and that's just the way they are, but I remember them as inadequate bug hunters, how did they become this expert in butchery? Did the birds just get stupid? Or is there one particularly evolution-unworthy starling mama who's chosen to nest in the catfood cupboard?

Add to this, the utterly beautiful 'Sweetest Thing' by Refugee Camp Allstars and Lauryn Hill, and I am nearly in tears.