Kill the mockingbird, or maim, or drown it. These are the thoughts that do not bother me at three in morning. Love for mankind? Yes. Love for songbirds. Or birds of prey? Yes. But only the mockingbird is that American Idol reject that serenades at O-dark Thirty outside my window nightly. Mercy is not in my nature toward this particular bird that torments my castle and kingdom.
Thief! Why do you rob me of the little slumber I can get? I would rather have Edgar’s (Allen Poe) Raven at my sill than this miserable monster. For the last few nights and probably prior to my hospital stay, this mockingbird has set up camp. It is this Agent of Satan’s nature to displace the builder of a nest and take up residence. Not my nest, buddy! At this hour I have developed a plan. This criminal is on my FBI Most Unwanted List.
Catnip. Draw every feline in the neighborhood to my front yard. Fresh bird will be on the menu. At least, this is more practical than the bird-seeking missile I considered. (Hmm, I really have watched too many Roadrunner-Wile. E. Coyote cartoons!) Perhaps more practical would be night-vision goggles and slingshot. As for Comet and Dexter? Neither seems moved to defend me.
Oh, they are fast asleep. It’s outside their “hardly-working hours”.
Give me a pain pill. I’ll nap later this morning.