This is a short piece I wrote in the summer, while I was sitting in the garden "working"
Bernard the cat is looking at the mangled frog beneath his paw in a contemplative way. If he grips it in his mouth again, will it struggle to move and give him some more play? He tosses it away, then pounces, scoops it up with one paw and volleys it - then leaps on its corpse, tussling dramatically with it, even though it can no longer resist and its short life has ended, here on the lawn, only a few yards from where it was noisily fertilised into life a bare three months ago.
Bernard the cat is looking at the mangled frog beneath his paw in a contemplative way. If he grips it in his mouth again, will it struggle to move and give him some more play? He tosses it away, then pounces, scoops it up with one paw and volleys it - then leaps on its corpse, tussling dramatically with it, even though it can no longer resist and its short life has ended, here on the lawn, only a few yards from where it was noisily fertilised into life a bare three months ago.
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