Back in 1975, a cat moved in with me, and I named her Cleo. A few days after she moved in, when I woke up in the morning, there was a mouse carcass on the middle of the living room floor. A couple of days later, the same thing happened. I didn't even know the apartment had mice, but Cleo knew, and went about getting rid of them.
No!
She ate her killings - or tried to!
Where else would they leave that lovely and thoughtful gift?
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