We came home today to find the feathers had been flying.
Not the fur.
Feathers.
Alfred had hunted a bird.
We were most unimpressed, and it wasn't just because of the huge amount of sweeping that would soon take place.
As usual we looked for the poor birdie.
And we found it.
Behind the toilet.
It was a turtle dove.
And it was alive.
You see Alfred isn't good at killing birds, just catching them.
Mr Murtle Turtle Love Dove is now ensconced in Alfred's cat cage in the garage with water and bird seed.
Hopefully he'll get over his shock and will fly off tomorrow to find his soulmate.
Meanwhile, Alfred is shunned.
And apparently my computer is shunning Alfred too as it refuses to upload/download/lordknowswhatload the picture of him looking lonely in his cat cheer far far away from the bosom of his human parents.
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