Wakened at 7.00am by the cries of a shrieking terrified bird. Ah, yes. Inside the house. The living room precisely, where a storm cloud of feathers whirl about and Tomthecat has it cornered under the radiator.
Lift him by the scruff, bird flies up, crashes into a mirror and falls on to a shelf. Put him out the back door and lock his cat flap. Go quietly through the living room and open the front door. Mummy Blackbird still on shelf. Stunned, but eyes open. Lift her quickly before we both know it and throw her up, up, up, into the air, protesting loudly.
I let the other protester in and get out the vacuum. I can’t believe the feathers and she can still fly. Unplugging the Sebo, I hear Mummy Blackbird. Outside this time and the crows are at her. Just as bad as the magpies, these nasty birds. I do the whoop, whoop dance with the brush and run at them. Hope the curtains in the cul de sac stay shut. Crow flies off slowly and Mummy Blackbird does the same in the opposite direction. I wonder how she is? If she survived? And whether she misses her feathers.
carolynjoansdiary 
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