Reflections - Night Bird

Gilbert

Two hours before dawn, Gilbert crouched on the floor tiles and peered through the sliding glass door at the frigid, country dark. Expectant, his ears twitched.

Not expectant, his cat brothers slept. Rills sprawled across sofa pillows. Ande curled in a hewn log chair. 

Hoping to fall back asleep, Spence reclined on the sofa. He stretched his legs around Rills and read a mystery. At times, he read with his eyes closed.

Thud. A night bird slammed into the door, thrashed its wings against the glass, and soared away.

Gilbert flattened his ears and cowered.

Ande and Rills rushed to Gilbert’s sides.

A trio of tails swished. Their reflections kept the cats pounce-posed until their pent-up energy burst into races around the great room. They scattered papers, knocked over a mug of markers, and crashed into Spence.

“Whoa, fellas.” He put the book down, grabbed Gilbert, and hugged the spooked cat. “The owl can’t get you. You’re safe.”

As if by magic, the three cats curled on blankets and slept. Well, two did. Gilbert crept back to the sliding glass door.

Thud. More thrashing wings, and the night bird flew away.

Gilbert tilted his head and uttered staccato mews.

Ande leapt off his blanket, raced to the door, and threw a right cross with his paw.

Rills arched his back and pranced on the tips of his paws.

“Okay, fellas.” Spence stepped behind the agitated felines. “That head-bashing bird can’t get inside.” He bent and shook the bowl of crunchies. With the cats distracted, Spence resumed reading.

Thud, swoosh, thump.

Six yellow eyes glared at the stunned bird on the deck. The cats reared on their hind legs and pawed the glass.

Ande

“Settle down, fellas.” Spence left through the front door and walked to the deck. No bird carcass. No feathers. Just a chalky white steak on the glass door.

When he returned, Spence didn’t reason with the cats. He headed straight for the refrigerator, pulled out a container of chicken breasts, and sliced kibble sized pieces. 

Attracted by the familiar aroma, the cats circled Spence’s legs.

Dawn arrived with no more thuds.

The cats patrolled beside the sliding glass door nevertheless.

Curious, I researched Pennsylvania’s nocturnal birds. Nighthawks eat insects and plants. That bird spends winters in South America. But barred owls and barn owls reside here year round. They eat small mammals. Either of them could have thudded into the window thinking Gilbert looked like a tasty morsel.

Spence turned on the deck light. Now it shines night and day reflecting off fresh snow.

The night bird hasn’t returned.

“Putting light on a subject always helps,”Spence said.

Or the bird might have tired of bashing its head in vain.

Rills