That's what the cat has brought us the past two mornings. Well, yesterday's was dead. Today's present we found still alive, behind some boxes up in the spare bedroom. There were feathers everywhere but the poor little thing was okay. After we moved the boxes he hopped away under the bed and when I went for him under the bed he flew into our bedroom. That's when we knew he was okay. So I opened the windows, closed the bedroom door, and off he flew, free at last.
I guess I should have known something was up when I heard the cat-door open and the cat running around like a maniac. I thought he was just burning off steam because he's been cooped up lately due to the cold and snow. My wife was exercising downstairs with the TV volume turned up loud and I had music playing in the kitchen loud enough to drown out the TV. So if the bird was making any noise during the episode I couldn't hear it. All the while he was being tortured by the damned cat. I didn't know what was up until my wife came back up the stairs and saw feathers everywhere.
I hope this isn't the twelve days of Christmas, cat-style. Two mornings in a row is plenty. No more birds please. Though I guess it's better than the bunnies he brings us each spring.
The cat shows no remorse whatsoever. He sleeping soundly in his usual spot, his day's work complete.
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