We heard the loud scuffling last night. Thud, thud, thud. Ignore, must be the cat going crazy as usual. My father woke up at around 6:45 am and walked downstairs, right into the crime scene. There were signs of struggle in the living room and dining room. We followed them to the TV room, and discovered the body. There she was, her eyes shut, blood on her chest and around, her sorry figure looking half as thin as it should’ve been. Right in the middle of the room, among a hurricane of feathers, was the body of the bird my cat killed.

Tiger was watching us, her head cocked to one side, with an expectant look on her face, closely watching our reaction to her wonderful accomplishment. We cleaned up, and made our unhappiness clear, to avoid further repetition of this event to some extent. Disappointed, but I was fine really, this is what cats do, I thought. They kill birds. You have a cat, and there was a bird. Deal with it.
But this bird was one of the two birds that graced our terrace every morning with their twittering. They were building a nest, giving our home the opportunity to house two, and potentially many, more to come. Four of their nests had been a part of our home a few years ago, so these birds meant something to us.
My reminiscence was interrupted by a shriek. “OHMYGOD!” my brother screamed. Fluttering, the soft beating of small wings, under the sofa in the living room- the male bird. The other of the two. Confused, blind with terror, flapping hard, trying to get out of the house, only to hit glass windows and fall, repeatedly. He was injured; entire portions of his tail were missing. The longer feathers in the living room scene were his.

Last night, we’d watched the second half of Titanic. My brother made a comparison to the current situation that nearly had me crying. Jack and Rose, with the death switched. Because there was no way my cat could’ve broughtΒ both of the birds with her. Truth was, the male followed her in, he flew after the female to help her, protect her, save her. He didn’t give up, he came for her. He could’ve remained outside when she was taken, but not only did he enter the house, he even went downstairs, fought, struggled, tried. But in vain. I’d witnessed true love. The nest is going to remain empty. I opened the window, and he flew out. Two hours later, he was still there, perched on a single branch, twittering alone.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s