The sun was shining. It shone brightly on her tawny pelt, imbuing warmth despite the general chill of the spring air. The grass was damp still from dew, gleaming like glass in the slanted sunlight. Her paws quickly became wet and cold, and the feathering at the edges of her pelt soon felt gruesome. Even so, a fluttering of white caught her eye. Ducking low, instinctually, she watched with raptor eyes as the butterfly drifted along in a haphazard pattern, dipping and swaying all while fluttering its pale wings.
She moved closer, swift and low as a cat, watching with undivided attention. Suddenly, she sprang, smashing it to the earth with one cream paw. It fell, instantly dead. She stared at it for a time, as though unable to comprehend why it had so abruptly stopped its fluttering.