That great huntress - the Diana of cats - Topaze no less - returned in triumph with her prey.
Being a mistrustful African, I snatched Topaze up and locked her in the house so that I could fully investigate her trophy.
The poor creature was twisted in agony, its tongue lolling from its gaping mouth but never believe a dead snake is dead until you've killed it yourself twice.
However I do prefer to let snakes live. In this case I didn't have to dispose of the body as, soon after Topaze disappeared, the creature reared up lithe and well, its tongue flickering in and out as it posed for our camera.
I gathered it up and John took it to the next-door woodpile that no one uses. I guess that the colder mornings made the snake slow. It was, in any case, a very young collared grass snake and they sham death to avoid being eaten. It was also tiny.
Nothing daunted and having learnt nothing,Topaze captured the snake's brother a week later - or maybe it was the same snake - also a poor student!
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