Death and the kitten.

Neow, in all her kitteny cuteness, is a vicious murderer. Yep, I saw it with my own blue eyes.
I'm sitting here with my laptop set up on the kitchen bench, pretending to do work (reading blogs and checking emails) and the little monster was playing outside in the sun. I'd look out occasionally and see her flying through the air or hear thumps as she'd launch herself at the playhouse on the lawn and forget to land before she made contact (not the sharpest knife in the drawer). So anyway, all sorts of kitten fun going on there.
Then, she trots inside looking all pleased with herself, comes and sits under my chair. I look closer and theres a couple of black insect legs hanging out of her mouth. OK. Then the little sadist proceeds to open her mouth, let a cicada out, and maul the bloody thing to death, right in front of me. Nice.
So the cicadas doing its chirpy thing, and then the chirps start to get a little drawn out, and rather erratic, until finally, no more. It is an ex-cicada, who shall chirp no more, thanks to my wee niece's wee kitten. Then, she eats it. Whole. Crunchy exoskeleton and all.
The other day when Tash was over and we were talking about cats, we wondered if these cats know just how good they've got it. They play for a few hours, sleep, get cuddles and pats from their people, and then play some more, and eat. But after watching Neow and the cicada, I'm beginning to lose my envy of the cat way of life.
Yay for opposable thumbs.

UPDATE: I've just rescued a beautiful butterfly from the jaws of death, and she's out there again, with another cicada this time I think. The door is now closed, cos theres some presents you just don't want.