Second Chance

I was on the phone the other day with a colleague, and she was asking me questions pertaining to a manager's meeting that we would be attending in a few days. I was trying to be as helpful as possible, given that she is new to our company, and has had the terrible misfortune of having her store opening date pushed back 6 months. A date was finally set, and was then promptly pushed back another week. I was at home during our phone conversation, and as I answered one of her questions I heard Butch meow at the back door. I opened the door and he strutted in and promptly went to the kitchen.

I continued my conversation until I heard the deep, gutteral growl of a cat on the prowl. I walked into the kitchen to witness Butch batting a goldfinch around the kitchen. I promptly screamed into the phone, (what I cannot recall), and proceeded to grab the cat and try to throw him outside. I was still holding onto my cell phone, and Butch kept jumping inside to get back to the bird. I just couldn't get the door shut fast enough to keep him at bay. I finally managed to lock him into the garage, and he immediately began to bang his head against the locked cat door and howl with indignation. I think I was still screaming at that point, and the woman with whom I was speaking asked me if everything was okay. I told her I didn't know, but I had a dead bird in my house and I would have to call her back.

The bird was in the corner of the kitchen, hunched over and breathing a death rattle when I walked over to inspect it. I then called The Rev. to make him come home and pick it up and put it away, anywhere but in my kitchen. I even thought about walking to our vet and having him pick it up and put it away. The Rev. was not sympathetic to my plight, and he told me to get a paper towel, pick it up and put it outside and let nature take its course. Part of me was actually mad at Adam and Eve because it it hadn't been for them, my cat wouldn't want to kill birds in the first place and I wouldn't be standing in my kitchen wringing my hands and trying to shut out the sounds of my cat giving himself brain damage as he continually beat his little head uselessly against the cat door.

I screwed up my courage and bent over to pick up the little bird. The second my hand touched it, it took off, beating its wings to the beat of my howling, girly screams. It gained enough momentun to fly down the hallway and into our bedroom. Visions of bird doo on my bed just steeled my resolved to get this thing out of my house. From the headboard to a picture frame, it flew into a mirror and dropped behind my dresser. I dragged the dresser away from the wall and once again tried to pick it up, this time with a cookie sheet/towel combo that was more bull fighter than bird catcher. After two more passes between the bed and the mirror, I finally managed to throw a kitchen towel over the bird and release it outside.

Second chances are good.