Some humans believe that fly hunting is merely a hobby.

This is incorrect.

Fly hunting is a vital household service, performed by highly trained feline personnel. In my household, that personnel happens to be me.

A fly is not simply an insect. It is an uninvited aerial intruder with no respect for boundaries, quiet afternoons or royal airspace. It enters without an appointment, circles the lamps and behaves as though the entire living room belongs to it.

Naturally, I must intervene.

First, fly hunting provides excellent physical exercise. A successful operation may involve sprinting, leaping, climbing and staring intensely at the ceiling for several minutes. Humans often pay for gym memberships to achieve less.

Second, it sharpens the mind. A fly changes direction without warning, disappears behind curtains and repeatedly ignores formal requests to leave. Tracking such an opponent requires patience, strategy and exceptional leadership.

Third, fly hunting protects my humans. They may claim they are perfectly capable of dealing with a fly themselves, but their preferred method usually involves waving a tea towel and knocking over something decorative. It is therefore safer for everyone if I take command.

There is also the matter of morale. Nothing brings a household together quite like watching me launch myself heroically towards a window while both humans shout, “Careful!”

Their concern is touching, although unnecessary.

Of course, not every hunt ends in capture. Sometimes the fly escapes. This does not mean the operation has failed. It simply means I have issued a warning and demonstrated control of the territory.

Fly hunting is not play.

It is security, exercise, enrichment and public service.

And, frankly, my humans should be grateful that I provide all four without sending them an invoice.

Yours, Mrs. Cotton 🐱🐾🪰