It was mid-morning on Memorial day, I was on the couch on my laptop, my husband was upstairs getting some more sleep after having slept on the couch to spare me his drunk snoring.
I get this text from him: "Izze is freaking out about something"
I dash upstairs, not knowing what he meant by "freaking out" and peer into the dark bedroom and see the cat's silhouette in front of the window, body stretched, looking up at the ceiling. Great, it's probably a large spider or moth.
I flick the light on, and perched on the curtain rod is a little bird. What. How did that even happen. Soya is fast asleep in a basket just outside the room, I didn't hear anything downstairs and Neil didn't hear anything in the room when he texted me.
I yell, omg, there's a bird in here! And Neil is like, wtf, you slept in here last night??? Hello, I don't think the bird was here all night! And I like how he tried to make it weird that I slept in a room with a bird, despite there being no evidence that the bird was there at that time, yet, STRONG EVIDENCE of him napping with a bird in the room. Way to deflect, guy.
The bird starts to fly frantically around the room while my brain is still trying to process that a bird is in the upstairs bedroom when it smacks really hard into my floor length mirror. A globule of blood is left behind and the bird falls to the carpet.
I immediately burst into tears. I dash to cover the bird with my bath towel I had on the floor and try to get the cat out of the room. I uncover the bird and it's still alive, but not moving. I grab a shoebox and gently put the bird inside and put it out on the front porch because I'm too much of a coward to do anything else. My face is gross and snotty but my husband tries to console me anyways.
(I am not a person that has a cute cry. My whole face contorts and so much mucus pours out of my nose. I've stopped crying before by catching a glimpse of my face in the mirror, the sheer wtfuckery is enough to make me forget for a second that I'm sad)
I go upstairs and continue my ugly cry while I clean up the blood on the carpet and the blood on the mirror which has slowly slid down making a larger streak like it already wasn't a terrible thing to clean up.
When did my cat become a hunter? And could she please just kill the dang thing if this is a thing she is going to do??? I can deal with cleaning up dead things better than injured things. Last week she had pinned down a young squirrel, it's little screams were just so awful. Luckily it seemed mostly stunned, it climbed up the tree a bit when I ran out there, though still low enough for my cat to catch it again so I had to stand guard until my husband came out to help. We've lived in this house for six years now, this cat is eight years old! Why now?
I checked the shoe box a few times through the living room window to check on the little bird, and about an hour passed before I noticed the box was empty save a smear of blood and a little poop. So I hope it found a tree to recuperate in! That's what I'm going to make myself believe. Though I feel like I owe nature something to re-pay Izze's debt.
Neil says Izze is just trying to bring us presents, but seriously cat, an injured bird in the bedroom really isn't on the top of my Amazon wishlist.
We also noticed later that night that there were drips of blood on his white comforter, which he said was fine to not bother cleaning till the morning but then I said looks like someone is getting bird aids, and then he wasn't fine, ha.
But seriously, where did this bird come from.
(Since writing this, she has now caught a mouse and chased it around the bedroom. I was able to get her to drop it into another shoe box and get it outside. I am now saving this box to catch any future critters since this seems to be her new thing.)