I figured regular readers would want a break from all the book release news, as fascinating as it is. And so I present to you my photograph, “Mumma, Cat of Death.” (I need a new camera. The quality of this piece of junk is so stellar.)

Mumma was a stray that showed up in our garage one day, freaked many of the long-timers, and then got pregnant. Up here in the ranch lands there are no such thing as spaying and neutering. There are a number of Toms, and, well, we were too slow with our communist population control program. So she had five cute kittens. Up until that time she was satisfied with catfood and an occasional bird or mouse. After that, she became Mumma, Cat of Death.

What you see above is only PART of the catch of ONE day: a packrat, a ground squirrel, a bird (she ate it, what you see on that piece of white paper is what she left–one leg), and a rabbit. Notice, she’s looking away from her catches. I think she was eying a visitor’s toddler at that moment, deciding if she could take him down. Every day she hunted up a few meals. And these were not for show, not nice gifts left on the doorstep for the master. No, she’d bring them up from the fields, let them ripen a bit, and then start in at the head. But she wouldn’t always eat the whole thing. Sometimes she’d leave it for the kittens. Sometimes, she’d just leave it for the next day. She turned our garage into a scene of blood and carnage.

So again: Mumma, Cat of Death.