Kick her down the stairs…

It was crazy. The bird was flying around the living room in a panic with a noticeable lack of grace. It never flew very well from the beginning. Hand raised and hand fed from the time it was born, it never knew the company of other birds. Even so, you would think the ability to fly would come natural to the white-faced cockatiel. Something inherited from parents it never knew, parents replaced by the surrogate human mother who towered above it and shot formula down its throat with a syringe. Not so.When it escaped that day, its wings teetered one way then the other and it flew in wild circles above the heads and waving arms of the family trying to save it from crashing head-on into the picture window. It would cling momentarily to the curtains and hang precariously until hands reached towards it and then it would be in flight once again. It would flutter above picture frames attempting to perch and then it would resume its wild clumsy circles.The family moved swiftly but calmly throughout the room trying to capture the bird and return it to the safety of its cage. All was under control until Jo walked into the room. Jo was the family cat. A sweet striped cat with a loving disposition. She had a belly that hung low and swayed back and forth when she walked. She had a knack for sneaking up on you and quietly positioning herself on your lap in a curled up little ball of fur without you even taking notice. She was loved by all. But on that day, as she came sauntering around the corner, she looked different. No longer the adorable family cat who purred incessantly and arched her back as you stroked the fur along her spine, her eyes were focused intently upon the bird as it circled the room. She became the predator she was born to be. Apparently, heredity was not lost on this stalking feline.To be continued…

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About Susan Warren Utley

Susan Warren Utley is a wife and mother living and writing in the shadows of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Her stories are inspired by the unexpected twists and turns of real life and by her muse, a feisty Jack Russell Terrier who occasionally answers to the name of Lucy. View all posts by Susan Warren Utley

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