Sometimes I will test my telepathy on my cat. I will send him the thought, "Do you want some tuna?" over and over again, to see if he comes over and whines for some tuna, thinking he's going to get some. But he's smarter than that: he won't be tricked into becoming a telepathic experiment. He will just stare at me as if to say, "I'll just wait till you say it out loud, and then I'll whine for it; I know what's going on here." The other day I was doing this and he grew so annoyed he went out the window and came right back in with a live mouse in his mouth, as if to say, "To hell with your tuna; I'll just get myself some better food." He then proceeded to let the mouse go, watch it try to run off in terror, drag it back with his claws, grip its body in his mouth, and then let it go again till it started to stir. I wanted to say to him, "All right; I was wrong to make you a telepathic experiment; but do you have to take it out on that poor thing? You're torturing it." The mouse was a cute little gray and brown one, with a furry little face and pink button nose. It was so delicate & adorable. I felt so sorry for what my cat was doing to it that I brought my thumb down on the back of its neck and pressed it into the floor till it died, its body going through jerks and spasms as its neck broke. "See, now," I said to my cat, "now you may eat it: but toying with it like that, putting it through all that terror, letting its hopes soar by letting it go, just to play with it and take it back--that's just senseless cruelty. But now you may eat him--I've put him out of his misery." But my cat only toyed with his dead body a little more, and then let it be, leaving it for me to throw in the trash. "What a cruel, wasteful thing you are," I said to my cat.