Mothers

My cat Hobbes, at the ripe old age of 17 years old still knows how to catch a bird. There are times when I think that I shouldn't have spent $1500 to remove a fibrosarcoma from his shoulder - a cancer that would have killed him quickly. I was told that the surgery might by him 6 months. Three years later he seems to have a chronic sinus infection and a will to live that many humans, including myself would die for.

Last year Hobbes caught a baby bird that was learning to fly on my balcony. Some people applauded him - the predator catching his prey. I felt horrible - that I should have protected the baby birds that learned what life is all about on my balcony.

Tonight - I left my balcony door open - a new crop of baby birds - fetuses resting in a nest encapsulated in their eggs - with a mother to keep them warm. I heard a thump against the glass and got up to see what the ruckus was. I caught Hobbes in my hallway with the momma bird in his mouth. I forced him to let go of the bird and the soft underfeathers sprinkled the carpet. The bird still moved in my hand as I ran to place it on top of the eggs awaiting the mother in the nest. I waited and went to check on the mother - worried that it was dying on the nest. When I checked - she moved down to the ground. Further worry made me think that perhaps its wing was broken and she wouldn't be able to make it back up to the nest to keep her babies incubated.

I went out again - gently chased the mother around into my gently cupped hand and finally settled her down on her nest. Last I checked - she was looking up at my flashlight. I hope to have her look up to me in the gentle sunlight of morning - with the daddy bird ready to assist in the light of day.