A housecat’s human learning to hunt, from the cat’s point of view.


“CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!” My human whipped out a strange device before my shocked eyes, and slammed it down, piercing his prey’s tin hide. He closed the device – like teeth – and it began to chew.

“O! PEN! ER!”

With each syllable, he twisted the device, mauling his prey’s hide further, then he peeled back the tin skin. He hefted the can into the air and slammed it down over my food dish. He snapped his wrist back, leaving behind the prey’s flesh. He tipped his head back and screamed in victory.

I stared at him. The flesh in the bowl, the leftover skin in his hands, the wild ferocity in his eyes. There wasn’t even any blood. I felt pride swell in my heart. This, this was my human.

I had trained him well. Demonstrating the hunt, showing him the joy of killing the weak. He had learned well. I had nothing more to teach him.

I stepped back, letting him taste of the kill first, and he just stared at me, expectantly. He nudged the bowl towards me. I sighed, but inwardly. He deserved encouragement for his progress today. But, it seemed, there was still much for him to learn.

Author: Eric Eshleman

I'm not real.

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