Dear Friends,
In front of the house stands an old dwarf crab apple tree, branches
covered in moss and lichen, some cracks in the bark, shoots and twigs
coming
out of it in all directions. Dense. Home to caterpillars at times,
though
this season few have shown themselves. The tree is forboding to climbing
cats. The trunk is just too t***** and thickly covered with twigs for a
cat
to feel comfortable crawling up it. It is a haven and court****p palace to
the many small birds that thrive in the branches, harvesting the proteins
in
the form of the insects and creepings things that are established in it.
The crown of the crab apple is too overgrown for any bird larger than a
Robin to land and roost.
About noon today, I was reminded for some reason, to have a look for our
small house cat, Koko. She is one year old this day. She was brought to
the local animal shelter with two siblings in a cardboard box. Left in a
parking lot at a softball tournament. Koko is confined to the house, she
is
allowed out on the patio to run and chase small insects and explore as
will
cats, or just sit on the railing and watch the sunset in the evenings.
As I was proceeding to go through the sliding doors to the patio looking
for her, I noticed her movement right in front of me. She is grey
striped,
and is not easily seen against the background of the wood planks on the
floor. So almost immediately I realized she was in hunting mode, her
small
fat body hunched down, her attention on something immediately in front of
her. It was a small bird, I don't know the type, my birder's manual is
not
that detailed although I suspect it to be an immature Warbler of some
sort,
mostly because of the shape of its beak. Yellow to yellow green breasted,
with grey to black markings on its back and wings.
The bird was not dead. But is was stunned. Birds will do that when
attacked by cats. Although this bird most likely had flown itself into a
window reflecting the sky, as they do. And the kitten had perhaps pulled
a
few feathers from it in curiousity. Koko did not object when I knelt down
and carefully lifted the bird and wrapped it in my hand softly. As I made
my way to the Recovery Tree.
Closing the door to the patio, I walked purposely along the hallway and
down the stairs to car****t entrance of the house. I passed through the
car****t and onto the lawn as a slight, soft drizzle soaked the yard. I
knew
immediately which branch on which to perch the tiny, weightless and
shock-stunned creature. It is the intensive care branch on the recovery
tree. I made sure its grasping claws held firmly to the moss on the top
of
the branch, the one that I had perched a few others on over the course of
the spring and summer. I gently stroked its head and wings, down to its
breast with the back of one finger. My soul felt as big as the sky at
that
moment.
I returned to check on the progress of the recovery about three hours
later. The bird had recovered and flown off to some bird place. From the
Recovery Tree.
thanks for reading this far, it was a wonderful story to share
with metta
cactus jammies ~~~~~~
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