I was standing in the kitchen around lunch time on Sunday, when I heard a strange noise from the living room. A ruffle of small wings, indicating either a giant moth or a tiny bird.
Thankfully, it was the latter.
The bird was panicky, and my efforts to coax him out the front door backfired. He instead flew the other way, through the kitchen, and SMACK into the windows that lead to the sunroom.
Guess who hit the other side of the windows at the exact same moment? That would be Ron, my savage jungle beast. Ron began battering the window with his face and paws, trying to get at the bird, who was stunned on the floor.
Jason covered the bird with a dishtowel and we took him outside. When we first unwrapped him, he lay motionless. UH OH. But after a minute he began to blink, and look around, and eventually he hopped down to the yard.
Sweet story, right? Except that when we got back inside, we discovered that the bird had gone on a bit of a defecating rampage (you know, like that guy in Ft. Myers). I found bird poop at both ends of the house, from the dining room to my bedroom, and several places in between.
Ron said, “See? You should have let me eat him.”