They Shoot Chipmunks, Don't They?

This is not a menopause or sobriety post. This is a I'm-so-freaked-out-because-my-adorable-little-cat-keeps-bringing-in-adorable-little-chipmunks-and-maiming-them post.

Seriously. I don't know what to do. Someone suggested I put the panel back in the pet door so that when he tries to come in, I'll hear him and I can go look to see if he's got a chipmunk and not let him if he does. That's great, except - what if I'm in the shower, or on the phone, or in the bathroom? I don't want him to get the idea that when he's outside, home is not the place he can always return to. I've worked hard to make him feel that this is his safe place, and I don't want to start deterring him from coming home.

On the other hand, I don't know how many more chipmunks with paralyzed back legs (I'm guessing a broken spine) I can take, or worse (for us, anyway) not finding one until it a) dies behind a wall and starts stinking, or b) has a litter in my pantry.

And, as much as I think chipmunks are second only to bunnies in the cute rodent category, they ARE rodents (I don't really count bunnies as rodents, but I guess they really are when it comes to poop pellets and babies and cat-appeal).

There's also the whole issue of letting Boots know I appreciate his hunting prowess, while attempting to discourage his bringing me his trophies. I don't want to punish him for being a cat, but according to my latest calculations, he has bagged the following: a baby rabbit, a baby bird, a humming bird, a gazillion butterflies, cicadas, and grasshoppers, and at least 5 chipmunks. Oh, and earthworms. Apparently, he's taking the early bird metaphor literally.