The carnage to which I refer is closer to home. For the last couple of days, while pottering about the house, I have been glancing fondly at a pretty little robin that has been hopping around the garden, merrily flying between the bird table and the swing frame and the trees. I even pointed it out to Alasdair yesterday as we had lunch together in the back room. How horrified I was to find a pile of feathers in the hall this morning. Alasdair had already removed the sad little carcass, and confirmed that it was indeed the remains of our robin. I wonder if the cats overheard me talking to Ally about it and misconstrued my interest in it for an order to kill it? No, of course I don't really think that; they are dreadful bloodthirsty killers. When Ally was disposing of the tiny corpse he said that the kitties were in celebratory mood in the background, prancing around the house delightedly.
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