There he sat in a scattering of fallen leaves on our patio—barely visible. His brown and red plumage a perfect camouflage in the browns and reds of winter. My little tabby crouched beneath an old wooden chair, intent on the bird which he’d already injured. Quickly I grabbed my gloves and gently lifted him up to safety into a small bucket full of leaves. He was still breathing. It’s always such a struggle—the knowing it’s pure instinct for my little cat and there’s nothing I can do save keep him trapped inside.
As I looked at the tiny red finch there in the little red bucket, the same bucket my sweet Kibbie cat who just passed away this past Christmastime, loved to drink from, my heart broke. So tiny, so fragile, just moments before hopping about in the yard, finding bits of food beneath the leaves, singing joyfully from the oak tree’s branches. Now, punctured and very still. I brought him inside—and we waited.
Several hours later, he was moving about, actually hopping and trying to escape his tiny dwelling. At this point, off he went to the California Wildlife Care facility—clearly, he was strong and had the will to live.
Now, we await the news about
Record # 02585 . . . Red Finch.
Birdsong in our yard this morning was slightly diminished with his absence and I continue to struggle with instinct and survival.
For all your injured birds and rescues go to: