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Bye bye birdie

Sometimes I pick the blog subject. Sometimes — like today — it picks me.

I had an easy-going morning today, which doesn’t separate it from most mornings really. Woke up, did some work for my part-time job, checked the sports headlines (keep it up, Mavs). By the time I made it into the bathroom for all the morning rituals, it was a bit past 10.

But I wasn’t awake enough that this didn’t startle me:

He's not just taking a nap.

I’d like to think our cat, Charley, was responsible for this bird’s end. I’d like to think Charley is a competent cat and if, God forbid, he got lost, he could fend for himself out in the wilds of Brussels.

But I doubt it. Prior to moving here, Charley’s front claws were removed, something normal in the states but viewed as inhumane here (and I’m starting to agree). So Charley is at a distinct disadvantage as a hunter. I think that’s why we have more birds than usual in our little garden and why they’re so chirpy. They’ve probably noticed he’s clawless and fly about our garden mocking him.

This was, I hoped, his revenge — but sadly, as I removed the bird from underneath our bathtub and performed CSI: Pigeon, I could tell this bird’s soul left the earth days ago. Charley just must’ve found him this morning and brought him in. It’s not the first time Charley has tried to impress us. At least four or five times he’s brought in a single feather — like that will do it.

When we move to Memphis, one of my first priorities is to get a dog. I do like cats more than the average guy, but a man needs a dog. And I think Charley needs a friend. If Charley can’t teach the dog to hunt, at least he’ll be able to lead him to water:

The sound of a flush is Pavlovian for Charley.

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