[prompt: 'catch' 22/2/2019]

"Kanute! Come quickly. Speedy's caught a mouse!"

What a momentous moment for the babe who'd run before he could barely walk. His name was a tribute to an early discovered talent - how to perform a triple-back-somersault - AND land back on all fours before heading back to safety.

Not for Mum, Smokey, my carefully arranged 'nest' in a cardboard box tucked away in a dark spot at the end of our lounge. She insisted on birthing her babies in our walk-in robe [hidden behind long velvet curtains]. Patiently, I moved her family, only to have them returned one by one to the robe area - until I gave up and accepted the wrecked bell-bottoms of my one sexy black cat suit. Not exactly shredded at their billowing ends, but well-clawed... sporting a ribbed pattern from knee to ankle. Hmm!

Even before his siblings found their forever homes, we'd fallen in love with the black-hearted and furred character we'd named Speedy. The original male chauvinist set the bar to an impossible height few human counter-parts could match. His mother bowed to his slightest command. Like a King, he'd sit and wait for his mother to catch prey and bring it to him, even demanding the poor, wriggling, lost soul was securely held until Speedy had a total grip. He generously donated his supreme self to be washed and preened - any time of the day his demanding tone issued orders.

He rewarded his 'other' parents [namely us], for the excellent 'main' feeds both morning and night by spending every TV-viewing hour on either of our laps, where he would go into blissful raptures as only a cat can. Purring louder than that horror chainsaw chappy, he added a slow but regular drip, drip, drip of drool to ensure constant caresses. Any lapse was swiftly brought to order with a sharp bunt of his boofy head, and a whole new series of those interminable walkies.

Cars were his nemesis. Despite our whole farm to wander, sheds to explore, trees to climb, and having been neutered at the appropriate time, Speedy constantly crossed the road to visit our neighbours. After three vehicular encounters, veterinarian visits, stitches/plasters or whatever, and return home for recovery, he finally believed a life on the road was not the one written for him. On that third visit, the vet questioned the wisdom of his name, to which I smartly replied, 'Hey, he's still alive, hmm...? 'Speedy' enough, hey?!?" He laughingly agreed.

Meanwhile, back at his momentous moment, Speedy strutted through our Lounge room with the evidence of his stunning prowess hanging from one side of his mouth, a deep and solemn yowl pouring from the other, proudly declaring his FIRST ever catch!

We didn't have the heart to tell Speedy that a dead mouse complete with the mousetrap that ended it all, just didn't count.