When I was about three, my parents and I lived in rural Vermont. We had this cat named Kitty (NEVER let your two-year-old name a cat; I was probably just pointing and identifying the creature before me, not handing out a handle), and she was a vicious hunter.

...as evidenced by the positively huge jackrabbit we found under my bed. On the second floor. Which none of us had seen her drag in, let alone drag upstairs and into my room.

I miss her; we were best friends. She died about ten years ago at the ripe old age of about 20. Badass cat, who loved me dearly; countless hours spent petting her on the couch while I'd read or watch TV, wake up every morning with her sleeping on my back or curled up on my legs.
I miss her.