My cat, Francie, caught a teeny baby bird yesterday. She brought it in the house with the intention of eating it in a nice safe place, but of course I took it from her and it was still moving around okay but certainly couldn't live on its own. We kept it warm and feed it all day (canned cat food mixed with water, then you eyedropper it into its mouth). It was doing very well, swaying its wide-open mouth back and forth and calling for food all day.
Here it is, taking a little nap in the sunshine.
Last night I just warmed up its cushion (a ricebag) and hoped for the best. It was dead this morning, its little head angled up as if still looking for food. At first I felt just mildly sad -- it was, after all, a very tiny baby bird, and also after all, it's not like I could wake up every night for a month to feed it. It could either live through the night by itself or it couldn't. This is just life, and you can't save everything.
But this afternoon, going outside to bury it, I realized somehow that if it had been a baby parrot or some exotic red bird or something -- instead of one of the most common of sparrows -- that I would have taken better care of it. I would have woken myself up (probably) and looked after it better. I would have valued it more.
I cannot express how bummed I feel that this is me. That I would more value a life that's prettier or more rare -- that I value some lives more than others. That I let the little bird die because it was common.
So, feeling pretty shitty right now.
I blame the cat.
This Blog, R.I.P. - We're closing the blog — but you're still stuck with my writing!
7 months ago