One of the most traumatic things that happened to me as a child was seeing our mean old outdoor cat climb a tree and one by one kill every baby bird in a nest. I climbed the tree and knocked the cat down, heartbroken over the lifeless little bird bodies at the foot of the tree. I’m a bit more stoic about deaths in nature now, but I still hate seeing birds killed by cats.
But it does happen. And it’s nature.
After I tried reasoning with Geoffrey to bring it back outside, and garnered no results, I locked him in the bathroom and proceeded to remove the bird from the house and vacuum up stray feathers. Then I looked up what kind of bird it was in my guide. I think it was some kind of sparrow.
Is it gruesome that I look up the birds’ species after I’ve buried them?
Poor birds. But it is nature.
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