When I was younger I had two cats that we let live outside the apartment. They were mine, I had them since birth after rescuing them. When we moved they had to live outside during the day and came in at night to sleep with me on my bed.

Anyhow, these brothers were freaking vicious. A family of four Raccoon's started raiding our garbage cans at night. So for a week my cats and the coons went at each others throats. You would hear them escalate every few hours until sunrise. At which point they would come in the house, get their cuts cleaned up, sleep, and go in for another round when night fell. My parents and I felt like Rocky's corner.

Our Alpha kitty, named Speedy, was a 14lb muscular motherfucker and his brother was slightly smaller, but very nimble. I attribute the deaths to Speedy. Around the fourth morning, we found a dead juvenile raccoon underneath our car. Day five, another dead juvenile raccoon, slightly larger then his sibling by the fence. Day six, no more dead raccoon's found, no more screaming in the night... silence.

I loved those cats till the day they went missing two years later. I like to imagine they both died fucking up a pack of wolves like Liam Neeson.