I ran straight to the source of the terrible sound, and found one of my cats, Sheba, with a tiny bird in her mouth. She looked proud as punch; the bird struggled frantically, flailing its free wing as hard as it could.
"Sheba! Let go!" I was horrified: Sheba's never brought back 'presents' before like our other cats have in the past. She must have been really happy to have us back.
Miraculous, Sheba plopped the poor creature at my feet. The bird froze and fell silent, probably certain of its end between the ferocious cat and the looming human monster. It's little chest rose and fell rapidly in terror.
Quickly but gently, I scooped the bird up: it was more than small enough to loosely fit in one hand. Sheba chirruped and purred, winding herself around my ankles in a 'Didn't I do really well?' sort of way. I scratched her behind the ears with my free hand, stretching wide so the bird in my other hand was as far away from her as possible, and went into the garden.
I felt sick. What if the bird was so injured that I had no choice but to snap its neck? Could I do it? I'd have to.
I peered into my loosely-closed fist. It ('she', I decided after a while), blinked warily up at me. I opened my hand a little more so I could take a better look: there was no blood, nothing sticking out at odd angles, and her wings looked fine (although they were folded, so they could still have been broken). I sighed in relief- she was okay, or at least would just need a bit of time to recover.
At this point it occurred to me how crazy it was that I was holding this little bird. Feeling a little guilty (because I'd be annoyed if I'd just been through the same thing), I took a picture of her in my hand with my phone.
I opened my hand up to see what she'd do, bringing my other hand up to make a sort of platform. To my surprise she simply flexed her wings and hopped straight onto the fourth finger of my right hand, her tiny talons wrapping themselves around the digit. I raised my hand up into the sky, but she just gripped a little tighter.
"Go on," I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice, "Here's your chance." I bobbed my hand upwards, but she gripped tighter again, not ready to go just yet.
"You should really go now before my cat comes back outside," I said. She cocked her head in my direction and blinked again.
With my free hand, I reached out to smooth her mussed-up feathers with a finger, thinking maybe she'd finally fly away if I tried to touch her. Instead, this seemed to calm her down a little, and she shifted to make herself more comfortable. Thinking she might be ready, I walked over to the garage and raised her up, so she might hop on the roof. Instead, I felt the pressure of her little feet increase around my finger. I sighed, and brought her up to my face. What was I going to do with this bird?
I paced around the garden, the bird (who I'd now named 'Liwu'- Mandarin for 'Gift') on one hand and my phone in the other. It was tricky manoeuvring with one hand, but I managed to take another picture of her send out a plea for advice on Facebook.
A few people mentioned broken wings again, which made me worry. It didn't seem as if Liwu's wings were broken, and she didn't seem to be in discomfort when she'd stretched her wings, but there was always a chance. Would I have to take care of her? With two cats in the house, I hoped not.
After about half an hour of pacing around with this bird in my hand (at one point shooing poor Sheba away, who'd come outside to see what I'd made of her present), I sat down on the garden chair. I brought Liwu up to my face again. She was breathing normally now, and had stopped peering around wildly. I took more photos of her with my phone (she seemed curious about it, shifting so she could get a better look). I found out Liwu was in fact a young goldfinch, according to the RSPB online bird identifier. All the while I kept chatting to her, even though knew she couldn't understand me. Every so often I reached out to scratch her on the head or stroke her feathers, which she seemed to like.
About a good hour after I first picked her up, I stood up. I felt Liwu shift from one foot to the other and twitch her wings a bit.
"Alright. Are you ready, now?" I asked her. I raised my hand high into the air, and waited. It was like a spell had been broken: Liwu straightened herself up to peer at the sky. After just a moment or two, she stretched her wings wide. She flapped, took a great leap and was gone.
As if on cue, Sheba waltzed back into the garden. I picked her up (she gave a squawk of disgruntlement) and carried her back inside.
Be safe out there, little Liwu!
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