Nicky loves to hunt.   The garden is his jungle, and crouched low to the ground, as still as a sphinx, he spends hours lurking behind  things, hiding in the tall lush, green grass, ready to pounce with the agility of a tiger on the next thing that passes by, which is usually my foot.

Shortly after Nicky arrived, we added a Blue Fronted Amazon parrot named Sam (therefore, Sam the Parrot, not the husband) into the family.  Nicky was absolutely fascinated.  He investigated the cage, in and out, the food dishes, the water dishes, and finally Sam himself.  With Nicky going up one side of the upper playpen, and Sam going down the other, they chased each other around the cage for quite some time.   After a few hearty exchanges, claws for pecks, and pecks for claws, they soon came to a good understanding, apparently with Nicky telling Sam

“If you don’t come too close, I won’t scratch out your little beady eyes;” and Sam informing Nicky

“Keep your distance, and I shall refrain from chopping off your slinky little paw.

Then came the morning when going out onto the back porch to fill the cat food dish, I found his first “love offering,” at least I presume it was his.  A small mouse, battered, bruised and bleeding, lay still on the doormat, dead as a “dormouse.”   He later went on to much larger rats.  But, in Nicky’s eyes, this was a message of love and devotion, his way of letting us know he was on the job, and appreciates his home, appreciates the love and attention, the bowls of cat food, the rubs, the hugs and kisses, although he still  wishes we would stop calling him a “CAT.”