This morning I walked out to my car and saw that a baby bird had flown onto the hood where the windshield wipers are.
I tried to scoot him off with a cup, all while hearing his mother chirping down at us from a tree. Eventually he flew away, and he flew a pretty long distance.
He landed on my next door neighbor’s boat, but the boat has a plastic cover over it so the little bird didn't have good footing. He would slide down a bit and then struggle to fly up again, only to repeat the situation.
On his third attempt to fly my neighbor’s cat crawled out from under the boat.
I screamed. Then I screamed at my brother, who was closer, to run and scare the cat. Jacob didn’t hesitate, but he was only able to take about 4 steps.
The cat looked at us and in one quick move jumped up and trapped the baby bird in his mouth.
It was done.
Jacob and I both looked at each other and let out the same nervous laugh slash moan. There was nothing we could do now. I of course felt at fault because I tried to move the bird. I should have pushed him in the direction of our yard—no one would have disturbed him. Before I even attempted to push him I had thought about just getting in the car and driving off, hoping that he’d fly away. But then I foresaw me driving further and further along the road, gaining speed, and then the bird would just get blown off the car and land in traffic—obviously why I thought scooting him was the better option.
As we drove past our neighbor’s house we looked at the cat who was still sitting next to the boat.
He stared right back at us with both of the baby bird’s winging hanging out the sides of his mouth.
I swear between those wings he was grinning.