Spring is in the (h)air and more....

A while back I wrote about Kitty O losing his furs, clumps at a time, now that Spring has sprung. That continues to be true, though in the true tradition of a magical cat, he looks exactly the same. Yesterday I saw him batting about a poor grasshopper. The other day he brought in a cricket that kept springing out from under Kitty O's paws as well as my attempts to rescue it and send it back to the great outdoors where it should live.
I know, of course, that Kitty O is chasing the above creatures because of his instinct. It's exciting for him that all of a sudden the garden is filled with any variety of moving things.
As I watched him turn into a hunter, both green eyes on an unsuspecting bird, swaying just his backside while uttering the strangest of meows before he pounced, I wished I had a plethora of instincts to help me when the various parts of my novel don't move. I can read a scene and know it does not work, but no instinct tells me how to fix it. I have to go over it again and again, hoping that in one of those endless edits I finally manage to make it work.
But -- every now and then, a passage will write itself, as if my head and fingers know exactly which words to choose and in which order. I always think of those moments as magical. But -- could it be a type of instinct? Instinct that allows me to formulate my thoughts in much the same way that when Kitty O sees that bird he stills himself as he readies to catch it? The thing is, he knows what to do every single time. The thing for me is, I never know when I will not have to sweat it out over a keyboard.
Ah, if only I had more instincts. Like a cat.
But then again, if I were to lose my pounds, it would never show.
So what's the answer? To cat or not to cat?