A live bird. A relatively unscathed bird. He laid it on my new bedspread…which I had had the foresight to cover with a blanket.
I gathered up the offering and carefully set it in the Japanese maple outside, so it could recover from the experience.
Our bird charts say hermit thrush or European starling. It looked a lot like the thrush, though I’ve never seen one in the flesh. Long beak, speckled front, brown wings. And very glad to hop off. It seemed quite strong in its departure.
I think I want to wash that blanket.
‘Scottish Fool’ Somehow I don’t think that was a typo 😀 Sei sounds like a delightful cat, but he is a cat and will do as cats do. At least he brings them to you still alive; when the Three Stooges contribute to the household economy, it’s usually partly eaten. I’m guessing the bird must have been at least somewhat stunned. I had to assist in removing a starling who had flown into the open door of a shop in Britain; he objected enthusiastically to being cornered, scooped up and put outside.
The half-Bengal will attack people, but it’s Sei who will fight critters and go on alert for human burglars: we had a feline intruder, and Sei put him over the fence, while Shu backed off to watch. Now the bird-napping. Sei, again. Butter wouldn’t melt in that constant smile of his and his cuddly nature. But clearly I’ll have to supervise his outdoor trips if he’s going to get after our birds.
Starlings are speckled all over, on a dark, iridescent background, And they have almost no tail.
Brownish, with a lighter front – that’s hermit thrush.
(I have bird books. I recommend both Peterson and National Geographic – NG covers all of North America in on volume, but with less detail.)
I’m betting on the thrush.
Have you seen the bird safe cat collars? They help. Or at least, they make it more profitable for my farm cat to hunt bunnies. https://www.birdsbesafe.com/
The cat in the family when I was born (three months older than me) got a collar with a bell when he started bringing in birds. My mother said he could sit motionless with the bell ringing, under the bedroom window at night, and somehow he still got birds. (By the time I remember him, he apparently had stopped catching birds, and the collar was hanging from the stop on the front screen door, so it rang when the door opened and closed.)
We shall see. He opted not to be in the bedroom last night, was shut out, and therefore didn’t get breakfast. He’s essentially a lazy soul. If I feed him before letting him out, he will likely sleep in the sun. He doesn’t roam free: the cats are confined to the garden, and are only let out for a couple of hours, after which they are given lunch and allowed to nap the day away. So it may simply be that he went out hungry, and brought the bird back unscathed because he had absolutely no idea how to eat it. I do not plan to let him learn. He’ll have closer supervision.
Cats are very energy efficient. Lying in the sun = conserving energy. Mine is extremely energy efficient –which is why he weighs 18 lbs. I know, I should exercise him more. I should exercise ME more, but there it is. I’m a very sedentary WOL. Lying in the sun must be a cat thing. My black cat loves to lie with his head on the windowsill where the West Tx afternoon sun can bake him for an hour or three. Maybe nobody’s sussed that they’re actually solar powered. . . ?
that, and they have gravity control, as in they can vary how much they weigh.
They are also shape changers, who can take up as little space as a tiny kitten when climbing into a small box, or as much room as a large human when honoring you with their presence a king-sized bed.
“Would you kindly *oof* remove your 50 pound paw from my stomach? KTHXBYE”
At least he tries to see that his pet eats right. It was absolutely fresh, after all.
I have my own theory. He missed breakfast. He went outside hungry.
This is also the cat that cannot find his way into an open sack of kibble. Literally. I think instinct caught breakfast, but he had absolutely not a clue how to unwrap it. The bird was absolutely unscathed.
Ah! Mom, I think this might be a breakfast bar, can you open it for me?
Breakfast bar, breakfast bird, I can see how the confusion might arise. At least he didn’t bring you a breakfast bard, who’d surely be somewhat miffed; or a breakfast board or beard or…yes, I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead.
My two might or might not figure out what to do to hunt and dispatch a critter, if sufficiently motivated. Mr. Assertive, he of the perpetually hungry tummy, might figure it out first. He looks and acts much like a chunkier, smaller version of na Shu. Mr. Non-Assertive, he of the natural appetite control and long and lean build, is more like na Sei, too polite for his own good at times.
My parents had more than a few cats who would get bored and release their live toys in the house, for their pets to take care of.
Na Sei would make quite a hani clan lord. So Sei we all. 😉 He’s restrained in his aggression and thoughtful.
Na Shu would make…hmm, what would he be in hani terms, as a young adult male? 😉 He’s smart and has normal “hani” aggression, or a bit “excitable male” in hani terms.
But as such, how would na She be tolerated, either on an estate or out on his own or in Hermitage? Or are there other options?
Note, I don’t particularly expect an answer, but (ahem) I’m sure folks would love a story. (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.) (Hey, it was worth a try!)
My fat(cat)boy would know what to do with that flying stuff. A miller moth accidentally came in the front door with me one night. This Alfred Hitchcock of a cat was down off the dresser (where he can watch out the front window), had batted it out of the air and EATEN it before I could even realize that it was there. His portly is astonishingly portable when he wants it to be. –And he didn’t refund the late bug on the rug after he ate it either. No escapes.
My now deceased (rescued) cat – a beautiful delicate-looking little grey Angora – was an incessant hunter. He captured mice and ate them. I knew he had captured them because I would sometimes find a foot or tail (sorry) on the lawn. More rarely, he would capture birds, including pigeons nearly his own size. I would try to rescue them, occasionally successfully. He would never present them to me as gifts, and always growled at me and looked exceedingly feral whenever I did manage to take his prey away from him. There really was no stopping him. He once caught and killed a squirrel (some feat), and I saved another from him and took it to a rescue centre for recuperation. It was OK. He lived until he was 22.