It turns out that our lab cat still has a bit of the tiger in her, and not just her savannah-colored fur. Despite being the consummate housecat--she rarely gets to go further than the balcony--today she caught herself a bird. She's been stalking a pair of birds that were foolish enough to nest in the rafters of our balcony. One day last week, she got within a few feet of one which was sitting on the railing. Yesterday they perched on the mat next to the porch door and had her enthralled. She even ventured a pounce, but as the door was closed, she didn't have much chance of success. Even so, I didn't give much thought to the fact that she might actually catch one of the birds. Last summer, a bird accidentally flew into the house, injuring itself, and as it lay dying in the living room, Zora just looked at it. She has no front claws, refuses to walk on grass, and we've often teased her for "hiding" behind objects like shoestrings and throw rugs. Obviously, though, instinct is a strong thing. Not only did she catch the bird, but once she had it, she knew what to do with it--as long as what to do with it is toy with it for as long as it can still move. For as bad as I felt for the bird, I couldn't help but also feel bad for Zora, who had done exactly what she was born to do, successfully, for the first time in her life. Not bad enough to let her toy with the bird in my living room, but bad.