Hunting vastly overrated. Silly mouse didn't stand still and let me stalk it. Mouse does not appear to understand rules of the game:

1. Cat acknowledges state of hunger.
2. Cat selects appropriate Prey.
3. Prey negotiates manner of death that is pleasing to the Cat.
4. Cat is free to honor - or ignore - results of negotiations with Prey.
5. Prey is taunted, chased, and eventually pestered to death.
6. Prey is eaten. Cat resumes regularly scheduled grooming.

Ended up with no lunch and paws in desperate need of cleaning. Cleaned paws in broad daylight in front yard until neighbor children began passing by. Have very little experience with neighbor children, but seem to remember vague teachings from feline mother about children and tail-pulling.

Do not like having my tail pulled, so went back inside.

Humans are silent again. Perhaps they are bored. Edmund suggests we waggle the toy-on-a-stick in front of them to see if they want to play. Reminded Edmund once again of lack of opposable thumbs, which received the response of "What's a thumb?"

Brother was definitely dumbest in litter. If I didn't look out for him, who would?

Nevertheless, lack of suitable Prey and still-dire need for belly scritchies are causing us to look more longingly at the closets where the humans are being kept. Perhaps if we just let out one of them, they would give us the Fresh Crunchy Food we like so much, and perhaps I could get my belly scratched.

Just a little.

There's nothing wrong in denying one's predatory nature because of an addiction to belly scritchies, is there?