The Hunter – a story by Archie (about Henry!)

The hunter returns.
What has our furry assassin brought home this time? A mouse? A bird? Or something bigger…
It’s 3pm on Monday afternoon – and Henry is coming home.
I’d like to say I taught him all I know, but he’s always shunned the luxury of long lie-ins,
laps and extra lunch.
Instead, this is a beast who likes the call of the wild…
Mum is sitting tapping on her metal box – the work thing that hogs her lap when I’m not allowed up there – when the noise starts.
A banging, a scraping, the emergence of a small black head over the garden fence. And Henry is here – but he’s not alone.
Is that a squirrel in his mouth? No, it’s bigger. With floppy ears. And it smells faintly of carrot.
Yes, a rabbit. The little man must have dragged the bouncing bunny half a mile home from the woods. And it’s still alive.
Mum looks almost as surprised as she did on the day I brought a giant, filleted fish home.
What a catch, well done Henry, high paws young man.
Little brother finally reaches the house and drops his quivering prey at Mum’s feet. Exhausted from his exertions he flops to the ground, panting with pride.
What high drama, what fun. I pad contentedly at our new friend, who hops nervously away.
Young Henry has left the critter unharmed. Carried in his mouth like a baby, it doesn’t have a scratch on it.
He’s brought bunny home for Mum to kill, about time she learnt.
But what’s she doing? She’s got a bucket. No woman, not like that! Use your claws, you spent long enough putting war paint on them last night!
No, she’s put bunny in the bucket – bizarre… must be a human thing.
She’s got him though. Inside they go. Well done Mum, that’ll be bunny for dinner…
I can almost taste it now. Good job Henry!

> Editor’s note: No rabbits were harmed during the making of this story.
Mum returned the nervous bunny to the woods and the three moggies ate chicken that night.

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