I dread the sound of the muffled “meow” at the front door, signaling that our pussycat has an animal in her mouth. I love when she brings me dead moles, the fewer the better, their tunnels network throughout the yard and they have feasted on our tulip bulbs to the point that only three came up this year. My son and I have taken to chasing her until she drops the baby bunnies out of her mouth, then my son goes into rescue mode, not realizing the bunny is letting him hold it because it has resigned itself to death. Yesterday I didn’t hear the telltale squeal of a caught bunny and woke up to find its hindquarters and a pile of innards next to the rubber welcome mat on the front porch. I quickly picked up the remains with grocery bags and expunged all evidence of this massacre before my son woke up. Today was two moles (good girl!) and a robin. I was disappointed about the robin and ran out the door to try to scare the cat into dropping it. But as I stepped on the front porch, my bare foot was bespeckled with birdie arterial spray. Wow, in all my years I’ve never witnessed anything so gruesome! My son ran to see why I made a strangled coughing sound, and he saw the robin in kitty’s mouth. He attempted to go out and rescue it, but I told him it was too late. I reminded him that our cat was distantly related to tigers and lions, and this was only nature’s way. He was pretty understanding about it. But when the cat meowed to come in after her meal, I just couldn’t open the door for her. I know that my cat is only the murder machine that nature designed, but I just need a few minutes to recover. By all means pussycat, come in, curl up on my lap, lick my face, Ack! Do they make feline mouthwash?