I return home bearing a gift. Much energy was spent on the kill and despite your slow and clumsy ways I think you deserve something. You open the door for me but do not greet me upon my return, and that is okay. I'll leave the gift in your shiny black foot covers.
You have lost your edge, you have no killing instinct. In reality, the gift is intended to bring that quality out in you. Perhaps the taste of a kill will sharpen your edge. And if it does, next time you would be welcome to join me on the hunt. I could teach you many things and get you back on top of your game. I would do it, too, because you share your catches with me, as well. I don't know what it is that you kill; its meat is tasteless and dry and I suspect it might have already been dead when you caught it. Regardless of that, you share it with me and frequently fill my food reserve; sometimes when I'm not even hungry. You must mean well.
Yes, indeed, I will train you. Then, at long last, it will be clear which one of us has superior rank. Life will change for both of us, but ah, it will be so much more exciting once you understand that I am our leader. I await your attention from below the box-with-pictures-and-sounds.