My cat, the murderer.

June-baby the cat has always loved the outdoors.  She goes out every morning to creep through the grass and try her luck at finding the best sun in the neighborhood to lounge in.  She is such a sweet cat, and has quickly made friends with the neighborhood children. They often knock on the door and ask if "the cat come out to play?" 

Yesterday afternoon, with Kamryn at her dad's house for the night, I decided to take the dogs for a walk.  On our way out the door I noticed June running towards the back of the house with something in her mouth.  

**I have been trying to rescue animals since I could first go outside unattended as a child.  I remember a failed attempt at saving a baby bunny from my dog, only to find that my mile walk

 to set it free in the pasture was in vain when 20 minutes later a proud golden-haired canine trots up the lane with a mouth full of rabbit fuzz.**

Yesterday was like a flashback from that traumatic experience.

I dropped the leash attached to my two dogs and sprinted into the back yard to find June with a small bird trapped under her paws.  June is a small cat with no front claws, so I assumed that the bird must have been injured for her to catch it.  I snatched up the bird and ran inside clutching in my hand to look for somewhere safe for it to recover from the trauma of being

carried in the mouth of my cat.  I found a large green tote and brought it outside placing the bird carefully inside.  After insuring that the bird was safe I put a gate over the tote and the dogs and I went for a walk.  

After meeting up with a friend, we decided to go back and check on the bird.  It looked healthy and unharmed, so we decided to try and free it.

If it could fly, it would be safe.

False.

We let the little bird out of the safety of his tote to watch him fly freely towards a blooming tree across the yard.  

Our smiles of triumph turned to gasps of horror when a flash of brown and white shot through the yard and literally 5+ feet into the air to catch our sweet little bird in mid-flight.  By the time we caught up to June, it was too late.

My little rescued bird was dead.

It's like when you find out someone you love and trust has done something horrible.  It's hard to look them in the eye.  I couldn't believe what I had just witnessed...

About 2 hours later along came June scratching at the door, I cracked it open and in slipped my little murderer. She was as proud as could be, and I realize that it is in her nature to hunt.  Im just thankful she didn't bring the poor thing in the house!

--kgk