I suppose I should have known better. You see, every good story has a beginning, middle and end. Last night was only the beginning of the bird story. This morning, it wound down to its inevitable end. But I’m skipping the middle which is a most important part since it the there that we learn a Lesson.

The beginning you know. Little bird caught by big mean black cats and brought into the house. Last night before I went to bed, I placed a small amount of birdseed and a capful of water next to the bird. I was hoping a nice meal, drink and calming evening would help it take wing again. Yes, I am a sucker for animals.

Being a very hot night, I opened the windows and turned on the fan before slipping into bed. Now, you must understand that our bedroom is in a converted attic at the tippy top of the house. This makes it cold in the winter and hot in the summer. It is also two very long flights of stairs up from the basement and kitty door.

So at 5:05am this morning, Kevin and I were sleeping in bed with the dog wedged between us when we both shot upright.

We heard the chirp.

It was that same death chirp that tormented us earlier that evening. It was the sound of a small and defenseless bird being gnawed on by a cat. For the briefest of moments, I thought maybe it was outside and the sound coming through the windows. Kevin got up and turned on the light but saw nothing. It was eerily quiet and then.

CHIRRRRRRP!

It was definitely in our room and being attacked. I flicked a light on and instead of looking for the bird (which is very small) I began looking for a cat. And there she was. Baby Wicks was crouching under the desk, swatting at something.

Now, this being the middle and all, there’s a Lesson. And that Lesson is, Kevin is a wimp. Perhaps this was already known to some but early this morning, it was confirmed.

Picture it. Baby bird screaming, Wicks swatting, me yelling “get Wicks out of there!” and Kevin leaning over the whole scene saying, “stop it Wicks, go away!” Kevin later admitted to me that he was afraid to pick up Wicks for fear that she would scratch him. Yes, Kevin, who out weights Wicks by 50 to 1 was afraid of the cat. So I got out of bed and grabbed her. I threw Kevin a towel and told him to grab the bird but he couldn’t. You guessed it, he was afraid of the little baby bird. Sigh.

So I hunkered down and grabbed the bird and we all tromped outside. Last time, the bird looked a little rumpled but ok. This time, after being dragged up two flights of stairs by a cat, the bird was bleeding heavily on her side and totally unresponsive. So once again we placed her up high on the fence and went back inside. Having learned our lesson, we did return directly to bed. Instead, we went down to the basement and feed the cats Fancy Feast. While they were munching, we quietly locked the cat door to insure no more bird trophies for them.

And now, the ending. This morning when I went to take the dog on his walk, I checked the fence but no bird in sight. We proceeded around the block when Artie stopped dead in his tracks. I went over to investigate what had his attention and there was a dead bird.

All of my time spent watching CSI and Emergency Vets must have affected me subconsciously because I immediately cleared the scene of the crime. (This involved pushing the dog out of the way.) Next, I stuck my hand in the plastic bag I carry for picking up poop. (Don’t worry, it was empty.) Carefully, I rolled the bird over and inspected her. Same type of bird, same color and markings. The ants had found her and she had no eyes but I didn’t find any indication of rigimortous. (Do birds even get that?) With the initial inspection completed, I began to look for cause of death.

There, on the top of the skull was a bite mark. Clearly, this had been the killing blow because there was profuse bleeding from the fang bite and, as we all know, wounds inflicted after death don’t bleed.

With this last piece of information, I could proceed on my walk secure in the knowledge that my girls were not the murders of that bird. Some other cat must have found her and killed her. Relieved, I came home and unlocked the kitty door.

Last I saw them, they were hiding by the bird feeder, watching the little chick-a-dees with hungry eyes. Having tasted little bird blood, I think they might be hooked. Anyone know how to stop a cat from hunting birds? Yeah, I didn’t think so. I am, however, going to pay carefully attention next time the Emergency Vets treat a bird on TV as it may become important later on.