Look What the Cat Dragged In

I just came back from vacation. Chow-Mein, my cat, was the only one home. She thought she ran the place; rolling around on the kitchen floor, napping on the living room carpet. She would never try that if the dogs were home.

I'm trying to get settled in. The oldest of my offspring yells out from the bathroom, "Gatita! What did you do?" I'm thinking it's another garter snake. Man, did the last one stink!

I was wrong. My kid pulls out a half eaten bird. I'm assuming it used to be a bird. Hmm, I wonder if it's the annoying Blue Jay? Maybe I'll get some sleep now.

All is good in my hood until the sun goes down. Another shriek from the bathroom. I'm told it's another headless bird. "Well, let her finish eating it!" I say. Except it isn't a headless bird. It's a featherless, super tiny, baby bird who needs its large momma bird to survive. Its eyes are still closed. It looks deformed with its naked little body. Its legs are still too weak for it to stand up straight. Great. Pull at my heart strings you defenseless creature.

Chow-Mein has the nestling cradled between her front legs. It's almost very maternal; if you didn't know she was planning on eating it alive. When I take it from her she pulls her head back in astonishment. That was her catch, after all.

I wrap the nestling in a kitchen towel before placing it in a makeshift shoebox nest. All efforts to locate the real nest fail. What now? Keep it warm. Place the heating pad I use for menstrual cramps under the shoebox, and hope it survives the night.

It survives the night. Dammit, I didn't plan this far ahead. It's a great thing my mother is a lover of all things and likes to take in strays. One more bird for her collection of chickens, roosters, turkeys, and who knows what else she has in her mini-farm.

I get it to eat a little. It opens its little beak wide, waiting for its little insect food. I melt. It reminds me of a time when Sam was two years old. He was sitting next to me at the kitchen table, eating chicken soup. I was distracted with a homework assignment. Sam would periodically pause to feed me. I'd open my mouth wide for him, just like the nestling, since his aim sucked. I finally turned to pay attention to what he was doing and saw that he was chewing the chicken, spitting it back onto the spoon, and then feeding it to me. WTF!

So here we are. I'm getting ready to make a two hour drive to my mother's so this bird has a chance at survival. We all know I can't even keep a cactus going. My cat is stuck in my room. She thinks I'm proud of her. She spreads out on my comforter and spins her little body around as she purrs. Little does she know I'm just keeping her locked up because I've discovered she's Jeffrey Dahmer. What do I do with my little serial killer?