By the time I was out the door, my cat had already pounced and I could hear muffled squeaks.
My cat killed the baby rabbit we'd been seeing in my backyard for a week. He stared at me blankly with it hanging limply out of his mouth.
It died quickly. The more I thought about it, the less sad it was. My cat had millions of years of killer instinct to compete with. Death isn't evil. It simply is.