Oscar the Executioner

"I see feathers", Mrs. Undaground yelled.

Uh oh. I rolled out of bed and quickly put on my sneakers. I knew what that meant. Our sadistic yet generous cat had brought me another "gift". We had to rectify the situation immediately. I couldn't think of a nicer thing to do on a Monday morning.

This has happened several times before. Every eight weeks or so, Oscar the Executioner, drags some small woodland creature into the house to show his love for us. I guess it's his way of telling us that he appreciates the Friskies and fresh water every morning and he forgives us for the trip to the vet. I haven't been able to effectively explain to him that a gift is not necessary. If he feels he has to bring us something, a bottle of wine or a key lime pie would be fine. No, he prefers seriously wounded, freaked-out wildlife.

I'm sure it's fun for the cats to sit back and watch us in the first few moments after feathers are discovered. We've learned from experience that the gift will be somewhere in the house, cowering and wishing he'd never wandered near our property. As the cats strut around and meow, the dog, Wrigley, quivers in the corner, clearly affected by the killers among us. Mrs. Undaground and I then start tip-toeing through the house, waiting for the sudden flapping of wings. No matter how much I prepare myself for the eventual sighting of the bird, I always manage to scream like an eleven-year-old girl and run away after being startled by it.

This particular injured bird was in our office. We surmised that the gift was for me, since the office is where I drink my coffee in the morning and post to my blog. We've become much better at live bird removal over the past few months and have developed a pretty efficient system. I sneak in and open one window, go grab the fishing net in the car port, come back in and open the other window, and start moving slowly toward the bird with the net while Mrs. Undaground pops the screens from the outside. Then, I use the net as a poker and a shield and shoo the creature toward freedom. After the bird eventually flies sideways through one of the windows, Mrs. Undaground vacuums up feathers while I counsel the dog and thank the cat profusely. No problem, except we feel sorry for the bird who now has to explain to all his bird friends why he's nude.

That day, when I returned home from work, I saw the dog's stuffed mouse lying in the backyard. The mouse normally stays in the house, so this was odd. I walked through the back gate to examine the scene. The plush animal was wounded badly just under the imaginary ribcage. There was white stuffing surrounding it and the squeaker had been extricated from the toy. It was like a kung-fu movie when someone pulls another guy's heart out and it beats in his hand. The other shoe has fallen. Oscar the Executioner has taught Wrigley how to kill.