Our fierce hunter

Yesterday, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Harley stalking something near the garage. He pounced at it, and then did that hesitant batting thing cats do when they're not entirely sure what they've cornered, they just know that it's smaller than they are and moving, and therefore they're going to eat it.

Envisioning something spiny and/or poisonous, I go out to see what he's found. I move closer, and a tiny gray furry thing darts under a pile of leaves. Harley starts to chase after it, and so I picked him up and moved him over to his food bowl on the porch. I know, nature red in tooth and claw and all that jazz, but still.

This morning I get home from work, and what's lying on the porch to greet me but the tiny gray furry thing. I think it was a mole.

Harley is, of course, incredibly proud of himself.