Dealing with my cat Cleo's Hannibal Lecter tendancies

AM writing this from the upstairs office in my house, also known as the spare bedroom.

- BECKY SHEAVES

Our farm collie Rose is in the dog shed outside, which is nicer than it sounds, I promise. Luna the rescue dog is being held captive in the office with me and Cleo the cat is shut (and furious) in the sitting room. All the doors to the kitchen are wide open.

I am hoping that another, less welcome, furry creature is, even now, vacating the premises.

Talk about the joys of spring. With baby rabbits and breeding mice all about us here on the farm, our new-ish cat Cleo has turned into the most cruel of serial killers this past week or so.

Not only does she love murdering tiny creatures, she also prefers to do so very slowly, with maximum pleading from her victims. Oh, and it all has to happen inside in the house. She likes an audience. Honestly, she is Hannibal Lecter in feline form. It's really not very nice.