Rob and I ate dinner on the deck yesterday evening, and I took Bridget outside on her harness while we were out. I glanced up from setting the table just in time to see her fling herself into a bush, spread-eagle and legs flailing. She came out the other side with a bird in her mouth. We were simultaneously quite impressed and rather horrified. We didn't know she was capable of this, and by 'capable' I mean both that we didn't think she had the skills and that we'd nearly forgotten that our cuddly cat is above all is a cold-blooded carnivore. We praised her dutifully while she stood there with the limp clump of feathers grasped tightly in her jaw, but when she finally dropped the bird we snatched her up quickly to allow it an escape. It immediately flew away, apparently unscathed, and Bridget proceeded to parade around the yard, immensely proud of herself.