- Master of Time
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- Joined: December 7th 2016, 2:47pm
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I keep a pair of parakeets. They happened to be what was my main concern when letting Mr. Furball stick around. Yeah, I had to lift him off their cage by the loose skin on the back of his neck, something like three times.
For two months, however, I didn't have to do that. Looks like he left the budgies alone.
Yesterday, I had a long moment of genuine fear. The side of the plastic base gave up by the edges, and the whole metal top of the cage toppled. One parakeet stayed inside, but the other...flew out through the open veranda door into the garden.
Now, when a budgy escapes, it's unlikely to return. It also won't survive in the wild - assuming that a bird of prey won't kill it, sparrows will, as sparrows are vicious motherfuckers. My great-grandfather rescued a runaway parakeet from sparrows alright. He had it cured by a local vet, and kept it.
Anyway, I chased the budgy into the hedge, armed with a kitchen towel to throw over the bird, once it'd sit on a patch of open ground. The hedge includes blackberries, which means that the thorns prevented me from catching the fucking thing.
Ultimately though, the budgy flew out, flying low over the lawn, and into a patch of it overgrown by ivy.
And then, the unexpected happened. A tabby projectile flew off of the veranda, right into the ivy. The next thing I saw was Mr. Furball, grabbing the budgy with his front paws, and right into the ivy, and pressing it to the ground.
"KUUUUURWAAAAA! SHOOO! WYPIERDALAJ!," I shouted at Mr. Furball, quite worried that he might be tempted to develop a taste for raw budgy. And he does hunt, as recently I saw him playing around with a mouse. Later on, he dragged said mouse into the hedge. He reappeared after a while, only to vomit copiously onto the brick paving by the veranda, with bits of bone and lumps of grey fur.
The bird was still in shock, in the ivy, so I quickly threw the towel over it, and we've got it back into the cage.
Fuck. I thought I was about to lose the budgy the moment it escaped. And it would have escaped, if not for Mr. Furball's intervention.
While the predatory nature typical of even the couch-dwelling felis catus made me question the nobility of Mr. Furball's intentions, as compensation for the obscenities and a reward for his assistance, Mr. Furball has been rewarded with a nice, juicy bite of raw beef.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation