Predation part 4

Predation part 4

Warning:  This story contains animals eating fluffies.  Viewer discretion is advised.

Back with the cat who pioneered the hunting methods used against fluffy ponies every day by his brethren.

Life is GOOD.
Could it be better?
Not much!
Maybe a little
Catching the red dot that keeps invading your house would be a good start.
Some day you're gonna get that thing and find out what it tastes like.
And you wouldn't say no to being allowed on the couch either.
But otherwise, can't complain.
Your humans love you, your belly is full, and just yesterday some lucky kitty had the night of her life.
You didn't even bite her very hard!
And it's all thanks to the new things.

Those bright, fluffy, delicious new things that just keep on appearing in the strangest places.
Hell, sometimes they even come to you!
More than once you've gone prowling outside only to find a small group of the morsels in your own yard.
Meals that come to you, these are the golden years of your life.
Well, for the most part.

The dogs have been at it as well.
Yeah, you've noticed that too.
With all these yummy hair balls waddling around, the dogs have got in on the act.
And it looks like they're doing well for themselves.
A bit too well, there's twice as many of them now as there were last year, you're sure of it.
While you stalk your prey with grace and poise, they brutishly storm in and rip your targets to shreds in a cacophony of screeching, barking and tearing flesh.
They're such animals.
Then they gobble down every scrap of meat, leaving nothing but bones and piles of rainbow colored hair.
It can be so frustrating, hunting a small group, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when out of nowhere the goon squad shows up and spoils your fun.
Not tonight.

You've found something special, something you doubt the dogs know about.
There is an enormous brown building with lots of square windows.
Many of them have been smashed in, humans haven't used it ever since you can remember.
But now something else does.
And there are a lot of them.
Scores of nearly glowing fuzz balls, waddling around, hugging and making more of those human like sounds.
On the ground there's only one small way in, hard to spot with some large, round metal things sitting in front of it.
These fluffy blobs have to squeeze their way past, that's how you found it yourself.
There was so much multi-colored hair stuck to the cans and scattered over the ground, you knew there was something interesting going on.
That wonderful smell sealed the deal.
Once you separated it from the stench of their poop that is.
Some days these things could give a skunk a run for its money.

So you found their little hidey hole, which isn't little at all, and entered right through one of those broken glass squares.
From up here, the view is positively tantalizing.
SO many of the things are here, spread out almost like a living carpet.
If you could count you'd be surprised to know there's over 70 fluffies here.
Pretty good for a city herd.
They've made quite the life for themselves in this gutted factory.
There's a mostly walled off area for pooping in on the other side, a place where rainwater gathers that they drink from and the land all around this place has long since been reclaimed by nature, humans don't care about this building anymore.
On two sides there's nothing but trees and bushes between other large buildings, the front has a seldom used road running both ways and behind is a large wooded area where they go eat from every day.
You've decided to keep this one to yourself, not mentioning it to any of your friends.
You've even named it.

The Larder.

Lots of the hair balls run around the big tall metal things of various shapes and sizes spread out through more than half the abandoned factory, some covered in white cloth.
Like the table you love napping under at home.
They giggle and play and seem so happy.
You've got to be smart about this and not let greed get the best of you.
Done just right this group of fluffy treats will be your own personal herd.
To watch and stalk and kill as you see fit.
But prior experience has taught you they're very skittish.
If just one sees you, they all may panic and run.
That, or another pointy headed one may try organizing them to stand against you like so many times before.
When that happens, they tend to stay in place even days after picking off a foal or two.
Almost as if they think they're better.

The thought raises the fur on your back.
Those weak, clawless, toothless, defenseless fuzz piles trying to be better than YOU?
It's happened before, whole rows of them stomping the ground and puffing their cheeks out.
Was that supposed to be scary?
Was that supposed to be a threat?
From THEM?
Every time they make it personal, you've obliged them wholeheartedly.
Entire herds destroyed, one at a time.
No one does it better.
Snatching your prey from the shadows and disappearing.
You didn't even eat them all, your friends gorged themselves but you made all the kills.
It's a matter of pride.
And you've earned it, the last thing they ever saw was you standing over them, their spines or throats bitten through, incapacitated and dying.
You made sure they knew what hit them, it's important.
Why?
Because you're the Alpha Male, and you are in charge here.

They're starting to settle down a bit, the moonlight casting down calms them, mothers are starting to gather their children for the night.
It's time to move in.
With two leaps you're gracefully on top of a large, flat metal thing, several times taller than you are.
Another human toy no doubt.
They play with such strange stuff, toys bigger than they are!
No matter, you've already spotted what you're looking for.
Not full sized but not far off, very light red and most importantly, by itself.
No horn or strange wings either.
It's sniffing the air and chewing on some plants that've come up through the concrete.
It found a little snack.
How nice, so have you.

With a final glance around you descend upon it in perfect form.
Your mouth is down on the back of it's neck and squeezing with all you've got before it can so much as whimper.
Stubby back legs kick out, trying to knock you off from the completely wrong direction.
They just never seem to get it.
Ones this size can offer a token struggle but you're already back up on the metal thing with it and putting on the finishing touches.

"Pancy?  Pancy hea'?  Say so if yu can hea', mummeh wan Pancy bak fo' sweepie time."

Well, that was much closer than expected!
One of the little ones had approached from the herd, it's so short the metal things easily hid it from view.
You hold rock still, laying on your victim as it's legs weakly fumble around in random directions.

"Pancy?  Yu nu pway hidey seekey, mummeh be angwy if nu come."

You hear tiny hooves tapping the ground as it walks right past.
It's friend however isn't going anywhere, despite the unusually long time it's taking to die.
But the end was inevitable the moment you laid eyes on your prize, it gives one final shudder and lays still.
And there's that awful smell.
Every time you take one of these it leaves a little gift behind to remember it by.

"Pancy?  Whea yu?"

Well this one isn't going anywhere, why not take a snack for the road?
You gaze down at the purple hair ball, illuminated by the light of a mostly full moon.
It sniffs the air and does more of its human impression, this'll be easy.
Wait... more are approaching, little taps and humanish sounds bringing them to your attention.
But the rush has already hit you, it doesn't matter how big the kill, that feeling of ultimate freedom and supremacy guiding your actions.
Without another moment of hesitation you're in front of it, face to face.
Not allowing even a heartbeat to call out or react, your mouth firmly clamps over it's muzzle and you're back up through the window like a streak of shadow.
The silence that lays before you mirrors what lay behind, they never saw or herd a thing.
You're far too good for that, and you've learned a bit about them too, along with developing a deep love for the taste of their flesh.
Can't hurt to practice a bit though, there's no such thing as being too good.

You briskly trot away from the brownstone, there's a creek nearby and you know it like the back of your paw.
The perfect place to do a little experimentation.
Your whimpering load isn't heavy but it's rear drags as you go, making far more noise than you ever did.
Satisfied with the distance, you unceremoniously drop the struggling, flapping (again with those screwy wings) snack.

"Owwie!  Why huwt fwuffy?  Pwease nu moar huwt, wan' mummeh, mummeh gif huggies fo' nosey owwies."

Well so far it's going as you'd expected, the thing is preoccupied with rubbing it's barely bleeding muzzle to realize what's going on.
You don't like being ignored.
A quick bat across its head has the little foal shrieking and begging for help and forgiveness, not that you'd know what its saying.

"Munsta!  Munsta got fwuffy!  Mummeh!  Mummeh hewp!  Hewd hewp!  Nu huwt!  Gud fwuffy!  Am gud fwuffy!

It shows no signs of stopping, so you just belt it harder and send the fuzzy animal rolling.

"Huwties!  Nu moar huwties pwease!  Am gud fwuffy, pw-hrk!"

You plant a paw firmly into it's belly to stop the thing from trying to stand, but shutting it up is an unexpected bonus.
It seems your weight alone is enough to keep it from breathing properly, and you aren't even using all of it.
Fuzzball tries to push your paw off with all four legs, but with the rear set pushing up and the front pushing down, it's more like helping to steady you.
What's more, it can't seem to make a whisper (a welcome change) and instead is... licking you?
No wait, its trying to bite, but has very little jaw strength.
This thing is like the opposite of you.
Weak, feeble, slow and especially LOUD.
Good thing you put so much distance and foliage between it and your new favorite hunting ground.

Easing off on the pressure just a bit, the thing manages a series of squeaks, high pitched like a rabbit.
That'll do for now, it's better than the usual shrill racket they make.
With your free front paw you forcibly push it's head back into the dirt and try parting the thick hair around a soft, vulnerable neck.
It's wings kick out stones and dirt constantly, somewhat distracting but they aren't nearly strong enough to upset your perfect balance.
The damn thing keeps squirming though, you need a third paw.
Or a more co operative subject.
Yes... that can be arranged.

Your attention switches to a deceptively thin leg.
The thick layer of fluff all over everything but it's face makes the hair balls look far bigger than they actually are, that goes for the legs too.
Not that you see their legs much, the side and belly fluff covers them almost entirely.
You want to see how they work, how the muscle and tendons strain against your strength.
Only one thing for it then.
Gripping tightly at the hair around it's front left leg you give a sudden, sharp jerk.
Somewhat surprisingly, the fluff comes free from the body even easier than expected, eliciting a loud squeak from your captive.
Again and again you yank and rip and tear at the fuzz covering and around that leg, it tries to push your head away.
And fails, naturally.
After several minutes of bad tasting, foul smelling (it crapped itself and you had to move, twice) work, the leg and surrounding flesh is mostly fluff free.

Well, that's actually kind of sad.
It is a young one but you still expected a bit more substance than the twig twitching before you.
It's owner cries like a kitten, trapped on its back and spread out before you, helpless.
Still, it seems too stupid to give up, its bare leg again tries to push off your paw, even after you lick away a few dots of blood that've formed.
Studying it closely you can see tendons move under flesh whenever it tries to reposition its little hoof.
Tiny muscle groups flex and strain in vain, it's really a fascinating show.
You've never had the opportunity to do something like this with live prey, it's always struggling too hard or making enough noise to attract attention.
But with one paw on its neck and the other planted firmly into the hair ball's belly, you've had no trouble holding it in place and keeping the noise down.
The leg is bright pink and just a little bloody from some fluff that was more stubborn than the rest.
Perhaps the adults would be harder to pluck like this, you mostly just bite through their spines and slice the rest open to get at the insides.
Wanting to see this funny little limb at work you allow the thing to it's hooves, before even standing up the vocalizations are back to annoy you.

"Pwease nu moar huwt weggie, fuwffy wan' mummeh, wan huggies.  Pwease nu take fwuff, wuv fwuff, fwuffy is nu fwuffy wif nu fwuff.  Munsta wet fwuffy go?"

As it tries to back away you advance, keeping a steady gaze on that leg as he (you noticed it's equipment while you had it down) shifts his weight on it, then off again.
It has a strange kind of waddle, not a proper, sleek stride like yours.
You know they're not a third as big as they appear, those over sized heads and the extremely long fluff is meant to trick predators into backing down.
It's a cheap ploy, any cat worth it's claws would see right through it on first contact.
The first fluffy you ever took was a foal as well, you pulled it back so hard you almost flipped yourself backwards expecting far more weight.
This one is no different as it babbles on, backed against a fallen tree it finds itself with nowhere to go.
Now it could pick either direction and run, or throw its head back and cry for help as loud as possible.
But if you know them as well as you think...

Yep, it flopped down into the dirt and covered its face with those scrawny front legs.

"Fwuffy hidey fwom munsta, nu find, pwease nu find, munsta gone munsta gone munsta..."

Pathetic.

It can't be considered a defensive position like a porcupine would take.
The little ones usually do this, even the adults try it sometimes.
What it's supposed to accomplish you're still not sure of to this day.
Looking for a reaction, you lick tiny spots of blood off the leg before you.

"Nuuuuuuu, nu munsta, nu munsta, nu munsta..."

How could it stink AGAIN?
Is that the third time?
Fourth?
How do they do it?
Is it supposed to be their attempt at defending themselves?
Usually when you kill something it has the decency to wait until dying before voiding its bowels.
These suckers make more poop in one night than you do in a week!
Trying your best to ignore the foulness, you push it a little harder this time, lightly raking a claw against the bright flesh of your victim.
A crimson, leaking line is left in it's wake.
And you weren't even trying.

"Owwies!  Hidey nu hewp fwuffy!  Mummeh!  Why mummeh nu hewp, fwuffy wuv mummeh, pwease hewp fwuffy!

Your little morsel looks around while it calls out frantically, and suddenly (for a fluffy) darts (waddles) to the right.
It's finally trying to escape, but your quick paws block it at every turn.
Batting it back into place several times, his face now begins to bleed as he tries to cover up again and protect it.
Giving up almost as soon as the escape attempt failed, ihe sits in a puddle of his own making.
How could something that smells this bad taste so good?

"Owwie... huuuu hu hu hu... wan mummeh... why mummeh nu hewp?  Whea mummeh?  Why nu wuv fwuffy?  Nu wan dai, hu hu hu hu..."

And we've finally come to this, the point in which every one of these fuzz balls you've ever "played" with gets to eventually.
Surrender.
It flops back down and whimpers to itself, no help will be coming.
The one thing you don't like about these walking treats (besides the noise... the smell too), is how they never present a challenge.
Unless you make a game of it and set your own rules they unerringly fall to your claws quickly.
It's to be expected as the apex predator but a little surprise from one of them would be very welcome, more like the early days of hunting them.
You'll learn no more from this disappointment.
Staring down at the blubbering pile of fluff, it won't meet your gaze, just make more irritating noise.

"Nu fwuffy come, why nu hewp?  Was bad fwuffy?  Nuuuuuuuu... hu hu hu... nu wan be bad fwuffy, sowwy mummeh... hu hu h-"

This time you belt it for keeps, the little animal spinning end over end in the air before landing on it's back, stunned.
Finally, quiet.
Your walk is slow and deliberate, scanning everywhere for uninvited guests this things wailing may have brought, but its just you and him.
He suddenly cries out and tries to find footing, rolling one way before screeching and thrashing back in the opposite direction.

"OWWIEEEEE!  Wingie huwt!  Wingie huwt!  Taste boo boo juice, nu wan huwties pwease!!!"

Your victim manages to pull himself up, one wing flapping frantically while the other wavers back and forth in the breeze it's making.
No point in dragging this out any longer, time for a snack.
It screams and turns to run when you pounce but winds up stepping on the injured leg and rolling onto it's side instead.
Clumsy, inept, stupid thing.
Your front paws stab down deeply into it's stomach fluff, with one hard tug it's abdomen opens up and you can finally see what you want.
Those savory treats that're making you just a little bit bigger around the waist these days.

"HUWTIES!!! PWEASE NUUUUU!  Wowest owwies mummeh!  Wan mummeh!  MUMMEH PWEASE!!!"

Enough.
Ignoring it's legs flailing and that screaming you take one paw and rake it down hard across where you've learned the neck is.
Fluff parts, flesh gives way and your claws slice deeply.
Immediately it's cries turn to gurgles and retching, then it manages to poop AGAIN while it's whole body convulses, desperately trying to draw in air.
You dispassionately watch it thrash in it's death throes, huge eyes communicating a kind of fear you just don't see in a rabbit or mouse.
Almost like its smart enough to know what death is.
Ha. Not likely.
Moments later all is still and silent again, a pool of blood forming around it's body and neck.
The facial expression expression remains though, eyes wide as they could be and his mouth open in a silent scream.
You picked up one or two more tidbits about their behavior but the foal wasn't durable enough for a proper experiment.
Someday you'd like to have some kittens and teach them how to hunt the hair balls themselves.
You need to know all you can of the newcomers, both to become a better hunter, and a better teacher.

Simple as they may seem, you don't want your future children to face any dangerous surprises.
Like that time one sprayed white sparks at your face from the blunt horn in the damn thing's forehead.
That was months ago but had been momentarily shocking and you'd retreated immediately.
Allowing yourself to be hit by one later on revealed it to be nothing more than another trick of theirs. Just like the fluff making them look larger, the sparks were harmless.
Your research isn't done.
There has to be more to them, it's what your instincts tell you.
And you trust those most of all, the years of evolution that turned you into the best there is.

In a few minutes you've stripped all the worthwhile flesh from the animal and idly lick at your paws.
Your first kill will be where you left it, that should fill you up.
Barely even night and your belly will soon be full, now that's a good hunt.
And now that you know where to find "The Larder" whenever you want, the kibble your humans give you seems less appealing than ever.
You'll still eat it of course, it'd be rude not to.
In fact, if there's any of that fuzz ball left when you're full it'll make a fine gift for the humans in your house.
The younger one always gives you lots of belly rubs and ear scratches when you bring some home for him.
Every time he takes off one hoof and keeps it.
He's the smart one, the one who appreciates your artistry and skill.
By now he has quite a few inside a big plastic thing in that small metal house where the loud grass cutting thing is kept.
Weird, but that's humans for you.
They're odd, but worth having around.

Back in the abandoned factory you perch atop a high metal thing and observe the large group of fuzz balls chattering animatedly.

"Candie, Pancy an' Tewwy nu heah, hewd wookies even in dawk, scawy pwaces, nu fin'."

"Nuuuuuuu, wan babbeh, wan Pancy, gud fwuffies, pwease nu weave mummeh... hu hu hu..."

"Dey no suppos' go out wifout hewd, munstas owtside when dawk time.  Stawwions wookies, nu neah hewd howse."

"Dey gud fwuffies!  Pwease wookies moar, Candie wan' go wookies fo' babbehs!  Pwease moar wookies, hafta fin' babbehs!"

"Pancy is nu babbeh, she know wools of hewd.  Nu pway owtside afta dawk come.  If Pancy take Tewwy an pway owtside, den dey gone.

"NU!  Mah babbehs is nu gone!  Candie wuvs babbehs!  Pwease wookie, Candie go wookie, hewd go wookie fo' babbehs!"

"Munstas out dere nao.  Nu wisk hewd fo' two fwuffies dat nu fowwow wools.  Sowwy dat Pance an' Tewwy gone, huggies make fewl bettah."

"Nu wan huggies!  Pwease, pwease go wookies!  Pwease!  Hewd pwease fowwow Candie an' go wookies!

"Yu nu tewl hewd what to do, yu nu smawtie!  Yu fwuffies gone buh stiw haf notha babbeh.  Gif babbeh miwkies an take bettah cawe, watch bettah.

"NUUUUUU WAN BABBEHS!!! Hewd fowwow Candie and fin' babbehs!

You look on as the larger green one suddenly reared up and smacked the screeching yellow hair ball in the muzzle, you've seen this kind of thing before while watching a herd.
Green and has a horn... must be the leader then and is putting one of them in line.
The yellow one flopped down and covered her face like they're prone to do, but the wailing never stopped.

"Nu haf hewd owtside when dawk to fin' fwuffies dat bweak wools!  Yu wissen to smawty fwiend or gif biggah owwie, un'stan?"

"Huuuuu hu hu hu hu... nosey owwie... *sniff* jus' wan' babbehs... dey gud fwuffies, nu be bad ,hu hu hu.  Pwease wookie-"

"NU!"  Nu wook fo' bad fwuffy dat bweak wools!"  *whap*

"OWWIE!!! Pwease nu huwt!  Candie sowwy! Hu hu hu hu... babbehs... wan babbehs...

Things are settling down again, you lay still as many crowd around the crying one and wrap their hooves around it.
The fluff balls do some strange things, too bad for them they're delicious.
Otherwise you'd avoid all the noise and god awful smells that come along with them.

Eventually the whole herd now moves away to a far corner and lays down together on a pile of old cardboard bits.
The green boss one lays at the middle, near the big fat water and baby filled ones.
They're all tightly packed in, laying haphazardly on backs, sides, on top of each other, however it happened to turn out.
Tempting as it may be, you've already picked off two tonight, there's no need to rouse their suspicions any more.
Slipping out into the night with your kill you head for home.
You can savor this meal in comfort there, and plan for your next visit.

Yes indeed, life is good.