carnage

On the bus, looking out the window, watching the flock of birds coast on an unseen wind current. Sleak bodies with beating hearts tilt and glint in the setting sun. Splashes of gold shimmer slice the darkening sky momentarily. Walking home across the near by park, dogs frollic; chasing tossed objects to fetch. Crows, alive and squaking splatter across the sky above me.



Ruby, curled up and small, sleeps peacefully on the red woolen blanket laid on on the window sill by the door. Content, she doesn't hear me walk up. I tap on the the glass with my key and she startles from her slumber. Yellow-green eyes look at me drowsily. I open the door and notice a small tuft of grey on the white linoleum.

Odd. I wonder what she's gotten into. I turn to go to the bathroom and notice more small tufts. I scan my mind to think of what she could have destroyed in my absence. Black scarf? Nope. It's still around my neck. Black sweater. No, it's drying on the rack. A moment later and the clear distinction of many small greyish black feathers and my mind clicks. Immediately, I can imagine the struggle that ensued. I can hear the flapping, frantic and scared. The sounds of small claws scratching and hitting the smooth painted yellow walls, trying to find something to land on.

Ruby, primal instincts soothed. Urges satisfied, slumbered in the warmth of the afternoon sun while her temporary and unwilling playmate expired on a pair of underwear I absent-mindedly left on the floor this morning. Ironically, the bird is curled in the same fetal position as the cat.



Striken with this sight of carnage and destruction, when moments earlier bursted with living breathing life, I know in her little cat way, Ruby meant well.

Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Ruby. I just wish you could clean up after yourself.