My First Hunt

Nothing much to write about here.
I'll just write up another story, I guess.

When I was a kitten, I lived as a housecat, with my mother, Asphalt, and my litter-mates. My humans didn't care much if we were outside or inside, and so my first taste of the wild was barely after I'd opened my eyes. My mother decided one day she would show us the outdoors, and so out we went (well, out she dragged us) into the grassy yard.
I should explain something. When I had seen the grass previously, from a cozy window seat, I had assumed it would be like paper, stiff and with sharp edges, and that walking through the yard would be similar to walking across a sea of pain and red-sliced paws from paper cuts. I shut my eyes and grimaced as my mother put me down on the grass- And then opened them, surprised, because the ground was in reality soft and slightly bouncy from the wet spring.
All my fears were vanquished. The daydreams of foxes and badgers turned to butterflies and rabbits, and the terrifyingly big, confusing outdoors instantly turned into a wonderful home. Obviously, nothing could possibly be wrong in this wonderful place where the green paper blades were soft.
A lump of snow that was not yet melted caught my attention next. I padded up to it, enthralled with every new thing I saw, and walked onto it. I then discovered it was freezing cold and ran traumatized back to Asphalt, who seemed mildly amused with my wailing.
Much more discoveries and surprises followed, and after an exciting journey, which thoroughly tired me out, it turned out I still had one more new thing to experience, despite it seeming like we had seen everything there could possibly be in the outdoors.
A mouse.
As Asphalt nudged and prodded us sleepy kittens back towards the house, I heard a strange squeaking. I conjured up all sorts of villainous things it could be, before realizing it must be the fabled 'mouse' my mother had described in the tales she told us as we fell asleep. She detailed how great hunters would sneak towards the mouse, becoming invisible to their prey, and, with a great leap, win their prize. This was my chance to taste the fabled creature! I fell into a crouch and instinctively crept towards the sound. Mother must have somehow understood what I was attempting, for she made no move to get me back on track towards the house.
Time trickled by. The mouse made no move to get away. It did not see me. I had become a true hunter, harnessing the ability to become invisible to their prey, silent as the snow but far deadlier.
In my excitement and pride at my incredible newfound hunting ability, I did not notice the twig until my paw had already come down on it. I froze at the sound of it cracking- So did the mouse, stopping and looking around. It saw me, and, upon realizing how close it had come to death, fled.
I would like to clarify that it had not come very close. A kit on its first day outside of its home is not a good hunter, and the chances of me hitting the mouse when I pounced were thin as a blade of grass, with the chances of me actually killing it even slimmer. But in my inexperienced eyes, I was a brave hunter who had narrowly missed a kill. I blamed it on bad luck and trotted inside, more than ready for a nap.
Now I'm in about the opposite situation.. I can hunt perfectly well, but there aren't any mice!