Full disclosure warning: I was not personally present for the events I’m about to describe.
That just might be a good thing.
When things began to unfold, Danielle meant to spare me didn’t think I could handle it. Now, at first, when I heard the story and Danielle’s admission that she’d purposely not let me in on it, I felt some righteous indignation. But, then I remembered that I do have a tendency to get a little bit high strung scream like a little girl and run in circles when things like this happen.
It all started when Halie seemed just a bit too fascinated with the wall. Nothing against walls, of course; particularly if you’re a cat, they can be durned exquisite things. Many the cat could pen a Ph.D. thesis on the benefits of regular wall-staring.
But bear in mind that this was Halie: she of the incredible girth, we-are-not-amused attitude and broken “excitement” button. Halie doesn’t do enthusiasm. So when she did, Danielle knew something was up.
Up and at ’em, in fact. Clearly, on the other side of the wall, something was scratching…and jumping…and quite possibly break-dancing, for all the racket it caused.
The wise Danielle first thought, A mouse?
We’ve had mice and voles and minirodents galore in the annals of Tabby’s Place. They usually find their way in through the solarium, and they are usually dispatched quickly. (Note to Stuart Little: do not book a cruise to the cat sanctuary for your next vacation if your life holds any meaning for you.)
But mice aren’t this loud…or large.
Whatever had earned Halie’s excitement, it sounded nearly as big as Halie herself (or an average Brontosaurus). This realization led to Danielle’s second and third thoughts: A rat? and Better not tell Angela. She’s liable to get a little high-strung scream like a little girl.
So, with the help of noise-tracking missile Halie, Danielle and Denise pinpointed the source of the sounds, and broke out the drill. As carefully as possible (so as not to harm the Brontosaurus trapped in the wall), they were goin’ in.
And nobody could have guessed what would be coming out.
Actually, that last guess is the closest of all. Behold the beast of the wall:
As this bundle of feathers tumbled out (squawking like a little girl, I might add), he had the misfortune of landing squarely in Halie’s bed. Fortunately, Halie has not exactly earned the nickname “Lightning.” You know that 98-year-old, 4′ tall man in a fedora who is always driving 35 mph in front of you on the highway when you’re running late? Halie moves at just about the same speed.
That was very good news for the bird. Danielle’s quick hands scooped him up and raced him back to the vet room, where it was quickly determined that he was just fine. Within moments, he was released out the front door, and flew off with one heck of a story to tell his flock.
The moral of the story? I can count at least three. #1, Don’t hang out at a cat sanctuary if you are the first ingredient in cat food. #2, if you must ignore #1, bunk next to the slowest-witted and slowest-moving cat you can find.
And the all-important #3, Sometimes it’s okay to squeal like a little girl. We (human beans, anyway) are glad you made it, bird. 😉