Big-kitten would not devour his booty on the spot. In addition to
being a great hunter, he was very fond of bragging of his exploits. He
started, therefore, on the return journey at once, in order to display
his booty outside the cat borough.
Forward through the green grass he treads, slowly and carefully. His
white forepaws appear first ... as if feeling their way; then follow
the round head, plump body, and gently swishing tail. His jaws seem
enormous, and his neck looks swollen--but this is because he is
carrying the bird in his mouth.
He grips it by the middle; head and neck dangle down on one side, legs
and tail stick out on the other; while along the ground drag its limp
wings, on which his forepaws keep treading and delaying his progress....
Presently he puts his burden down for a breathing-space--now he picks
it up again; his hairless little red nose-tip flattens out, and his
yellow, slanting eyes close viciously as he crunches it in his teeth.
As it happens, none of the others are outside the hole when he arrives,
so that he receives no immediate applause; he therefore begins to run
about miauwing, which soon fetches out the whole band. They shall view
him as conqueror!
With the young starling dangling from his jaws and his tail hoisted
proudly he swaggers in among them. He twitches a wing tantalizingly
under their noses, making them snap jealously at it. At last he lies
down and devours his booty with exasperating calmness and deliberation.
However, the young starling is more than he can manage at one sitting,
and when he is satisfied he begins to play with the remains.
Unfortunately, of course, it is dead; but he does everything possible
to make it _seem_ alive!
He takes it between his forepaws and casts it high in the air, then
catches it with a deep, savage growl. He puts it in front of him and
gives it a push, causing it to jerk forward. This stimulates his
imagination enormously; he thinks the bird is about to escape, and
quickly thrusts his claws into it.
Again, with rapid touches of his paws he brushes the starling towards
him, at the same time jumping back quickly--and now in his haste he
rolls over backwards and lies there, juggling ecstatically with the
dead bird.
Surrounding him, but hidden behind stone and hillock, his brothers and
sisters, with ears stiff and whiskers quivering, wait and watch ...
perhaps a miracle will happen and the bird fly towards one of them....
Just then a sea-gull comes sweeping past the mound, and, startled at
seeing the kitten flock just beneath it, drops a jet of white, which
hits the victor on the forehead and nose....
Big makes a leap upwards at the sharp-shooter, and afterwards, feeling
the need of a good wash, forgets for a time all about the starling.
When he returns it has vanished! Tiny sits with a most innocent
expression on his face, and Red had a feather in his whiskers!
He ought really to have trounced the two impudent brutes; but it was
beneath his dignity--besides, he was full to the brim. He could go out
into the field and catch another one if he liked--he was quite certain
he could!