I cannot think what possessed a couple of swallows to nest under the eves of the porch. Both cats lie in wait and just now and again as one of the parents or, now flying offspring, swoop in to land, a feline leaps and takes one down. The porch is next to the kitchen where I am typing and have just heard and witnessed another kill for Quincey, the larger male cat. The noise of death and dying was not pleasant.
His sister Sian also got one the other day and started to eat it in the kitchen before being ushered out. I wonder if any birds will be left by the time comes for the annual migration. Yesterday, for variety, Quincey killed a pigeon and here he is relaxing afterwards, proud of himself and with a full stomach.
