Tuesday, July 17, 2007

A bird in the hand...

I'm on vacation from work this week, and plan to spend the week writing, but there have some distractions.

First, I came home last night to find feathers* on the carpet.

At first, I thought a bird caught Mr. Baz on the patio and dragged him into the bedroom, where he planned to devour him. Because it's not like Mr. Baz could really catch a bird without front claws, and drag the bird into the bedroom, could he?

But Mr. Baz was sitting proudly by the feathers. Which could only mean one thing: he had either devoured the bird, or the bird was somewhere in the house.

Typically when Mr. Baz used to catch birds (when he still had front claws), he would place the bird head in his bowl after he finished eating the rest of the bird for dinner. Or lunch, or an afternoon snack, depending on when he caught the bird.

I checked his bowl, but it was empty. And there were no bones or blood anywhere, which meant the bird was somewhere in the house.

The Hubs and I searched everywhere using our favourite matching pig flashlights...

...which we got as a parting gift at a friend's wedding recently, but we couldn't find the bird anywhere. Instead, Mr. Baz thought that the flashing pig eyes were a game and tried to play with us.

Finally, we gave up and decided that the bird must've escaped and gotten back outside, despite the fact that the patio door was only open six inches - just enough for Mr. Baz to fit his belly through it. I mean, I had to believe that otherwise how was I ever going to get to sleep knowing there was a potentially dead, or crazy-mad featherless bird in the house?

Then, this morning, I got home to find that Mr. Baz had barfed all over the floor. Part of me hopes that it wasn't the bird that made him sick, since the bird could've been chock-full of disease. But secretly, the other part of me hopes it was the bird, just so that I don't find a rotting bird carcass in a pair of shoes next week.

Now, Mr. Baz is sleeping under the bed. Recovering. I hope. Not playing with the dead bird.

*Note: the feathers weren't actually pink. I didn't take a picture of the actual feathers, because that's just gross.


Laural Dawn said...

I can only imagine you and your husband searching your entire place with mini-flashlights. That's HILARIOUS.
Our cats have yet to capture any birds for us. I dread the day! My old cat was a "mouser" and I sware she once chased me with a mouse. Brutal.

Teena said...

One of my kitties ate a couple bows (like for a present) on Saturday. He barfed them up shortly thereafter. And then spent the next 24 hours barfing on the carpet and the comforter on our bed. Thankfully he's okay now.

Why are kitties so dumb??!! :)