The cat, on the other hand, is seldom trained to hunt for man; its inclination is to destroy; it hunts for its own pleasure and profit. A desire for warm blood persists, and however well the domestic pet is fed it generally devours some portion of its prey. Much of the play of puppies and kittens, as indeed that of all juvenile animals, is "make-belief" of sport; the mock hunt is far more marked than the mock sexual fight or amour. We, too, are but domesticated wild animals; we have ceased to kill to supply daily need, but have not lost the hunting spirit. The boy who stones a cat or bird or hammers a toad to death is only allowing freedom to his inherent savage inclinations. Let us not judge him harshly, but deliver a salutary moral lesson—for preference with a stick.
"Much teaching," declared Canon Lyttelton, "is needed to make children learn what cruelty means, and sometimes a practical application of lex talionis is necessary."
Whilst actually writing the above paragraph I was called into the garden to interview a neighbour's tabby; it had struck down and was tormenting a hen blackbird. That cat is well fed, and it did not require a meal; the cat was sitting close by the terrorised and wounded victim, which had energy sufficient to flutter away, but dare not move The cat was waiting for it to attempt to escape, when it would have stopped it just when the bird imagined that it was free. Though perfectly aware that the habit of playing with the victim is natural, I object to my garden being converted into a Spanish arena or a torture chamber, but I found the unfortunate so mauled that I ended its miseries. Nevertheless it was an interesting example of feline instinct; the wild carnivore was there, had hunted for sport, and was killing slowly for its own gratification. Can we justly say that the cat was cruel? Is it not fairer to call it primitive, savage, and realise how wonderfully, in spite of all our softening,
