Disgustamundo...

So there I am, microwaving my dinner, the way you do... and I reach in and get the hot bowl and I'm cradling it in a towel and heading for the counter... and I look down, and there is Morgan (my small, koi-colored, back-up cat) staring at the floor. So I look too, and... there's a thousand-legger, kind of a teenage-sized one, scuttling across the floor. With Morgan watching it, raptly, but not exactly doing anything, of course.

So without breaking stride, I stomp right on that fucker. And I keep going, and put my microwaved bowl onto the counter, and I'm stirring it, and then I look around.

And -- yes -- Morgan has *EATEN* the flattened remains of the thousand-legger. Slurp, right off the floor. Gone.

So let me get this straight.

I live with two pint-sized pumas who, while miniature, are nonetheless the product of millions of years of keenly-honed evolution resulting in compact little predatory machines.

BUT... they need to wait for *ME* to turn the bugs into Insect Pâté, before they can eat them.

Oh sure. Like *that* makes sense.