(Alternate Title: Psycho Killer)
Once upon a time, on a sunny day in late summer…
“Hon, that bird that’s in the attic has got.to.GO.“
“Okay.”
“Now.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
Mister Fever, upon hearing this demand expectation voiced aloud, realized that I Meant Business™ and chose to hustle his buns up into the attic to see what he could do about chasing the little winged rat chirp-head out.
Unsurprisingly, the Attic Bird* was not particularly interested in flying toward the Giant Invader it saw poking its head through the ceiling door, and chose instead to hide from my spouse.
So said spouse came back down the stepladder, walked a few steps down the hallway…
One step…
One and a half…
…and was immediately dive-bombed by the Attic Bird, which had taken the opportunity to fly through the attic opening and must have been thinking, “My GOD, look at this place! So many nooks and crannies for storing twigs!” (or some such equally distracting thing), because it immediately did a u-turn when faced with my stained glass peacock window hanging then flew itself head-first, warp speed – THUD! – into a wall.
Like, if it was a cartoon bird, it would’ve had miniature cartoon birds flying around its head after that kind of crash.
So the Attic Bird slides down the wall after braining himself – a wall which is two stories high, seeing as it is the stairwell wall – all the way to the bottom stair landing, prompting my cat (who has *no* killer instincts, and in fact has very little in the way of ‘instincts’ at all***) – who has thus far been watching these goings-on with the Yeah, SO? insouciance the species is known for – to trot down the stairs after it…
Causing mad chaos while the humans trip over each other, trying not to fall down the stairs themselves, yelling variations “Oh, shit! Get the cat! Don’t let him eat –!”
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