The Flying Flea, Callie, And Me

Who ever heard of a cat that didn’’t eat birds?
The house people had picked me out of my litter to be a mouser. Callie was getting too old for the job. So it was mine. But I didn’’t plan on getting dive-bombed by a mockingbird building her nest…or adopting the baby who fell out. No joke! I’’m a cat, but I do not eat birds. Mice, yes. Birds, no. Flea – that’’s what I named her – couldn’’t even fly. She was so scared when she toppled onto my head that she said, “Eat me…it’’s quicker than starving to death.”
She was pathetic. I had to help her. The first step was protecting Flea – and me – from the monster rats in the barn (that’’s saying a mouthful!) and Bullsnake under the woodpile. Next, Callie and I had to teach Flea to fly. After all, how could she stay up North with us when her bird family was flying to Florida. I’’m not a Florida kind of cat. It’’s just too hot for us furry types. I know I’’ll miss my Flea. But she’’ll come back – after she’’s seen the world!