I returned from a quick bike ride today to find my daughter distraught about something one of the cats had done. She had witnessed our black and white, Chaps, eating a small bird in the backyard.

Some advice, should you find yourself in a similar situation with a 4-year-old girl who is friend to small birds and animals of all kinds (except snails and bugs): my initial reaction, “Go, Chaps!” was exactly wrong.

Tears! Woe! Sorrow, the way only a little girl can feel sorrow. I tried to console her by telling her that the cat wasn’t being mean. She was just a hunter and that is what hunters do. The Girl refused to accept that her cute, nice cat could be a vicious hunter.

“She’s not a hunter!” she cried. I said, “She’s not being mean, sweetie. She’s still a nice cat.”

“She eats dead birds,” she said.

“I know,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean she’s mean.”

“I know she’s not mean,” she said. “She’s just…” Sob. “She’s just…” Sniff. “She’s just mean to other animals! Bwaaaa!”

And I held her and smiled to myself and stroked her hair. And eventually she felt good enough to play and read stories. And I was thankful that the Girl didn’t realize that Chaps didn’t just eat that bird — she killed it first.

And Chaps is a fat cat.

So, seriously, go Chaps!