She did it again. The black cat has stricken. She finally caught her victim, but this kill was very different from all the countless kills before.

She had a difficult time chasing after this one. He was unpredictable, fast, and seemed to enjoy the chase as much as she did. Sometimes she felt that it was him who was playing with her, him who was in control of this chase.

She learned his every habit. She knew what time he got up, what time he left his mouse-hole and what time he came back. She got to know his friends, his habits and his dreams.

She finally got him. He came out of his hole late one night, thinking that she would be long gone by now. He made a mistake: the black cat never slept until the chase was over. She uncoiled her long lean body into a weapon of death and jumped. It happened so fast that no one, especially not the mouse, would have noticed the flinch that passed through her face. The last thing he saw before his death was her wide blue eyes. Then it was over.

The black cat was silent. The irony of her existence was that she loved… mice. She longed for their short grey coats, their round eyes and small ears. She had the best intentions every time she met another mouse. Unfortunately, her instincts were stronger every single time. As soon as a mouse would run, the black cat would chase after him.

Chewing on a limp tail of her latest victim, she couldn’t get this annoying thought out: “If only there was a mouse out there that would be brave enough not to run…”