So I previously said I couldn't finish off a mouse myself. Well, how about a bird??? That is bigger than my cat???? Today, I've officially ''finished off'' a victim of Jamesons killer paws for the first time. And let me tell you it wasn't fun. At all!!!
I sat on the loo - as people sometimes do- when I heard the catflap. It banged a little bit louder than usual, and I giggled to myself while imagining the scenario if that was Jameson bringing in a big bird and me having to kerfuffle my way out of the loo to prevent an indoor massacre. Well, that scenario became reality when I heard a bang from the hallway and quickly had to make my way there. I froze - there, on my pink crock sandals, sat Jameson, with a half-dead massive pigeon. The hallway looked like it had been subject to a huge pillow fight - feathers everywhere. I completely freaked out - baring in mind OH was out, and I would have to deal with it all on my own!!! I panicked and started yelling at Jameson to ''take it outside'' and started pointing and opening the front door! As if he had a clue about what I said - but he took the poor bird outside on the patio, and sat there looking at it (but mainly at me!) and occassionally whacking it. The bird was still alive and breathing heavily, and kept blinking. I knew what I had to do, but couldn't face it and instead rang all my neighbours doors (noone was in of course) and called OH, who was right in the middle of a meeting who instructed me to either let the cat have it, or find a piece of wood and bang it hard on the head to ends its misery. I still couldn't face it but knew it was the only way to go - so staggered around the garden for ages trying to find a piece of wood, crying my eyes out, yelling all the swearwords under the sun (incl ''why me???'') - all at the same time Jameson were comfortably stretched out on the lawn, eating catgrass, looking extremely pleased with himself. He was in no rush to finish the pigeon off - infact, I think he'd just had a good play with it, and was going to leave it there (that's happened before!)
I went up to the poor poor pigeon, the neck was hanging, and I moved it's head. It turned around and looked me in the eye and I just said, ''I'm sorry bird, you're going to a much better place now, I know you understand''. Then I whacked it, full force. It shook, flapped, and made so many movements I thought I had completely failed and had to do it again, until I noticed it was then completely still. My friend phoned and she calmed me down, while I was talking to her I watched the bird (Jameson on top of the stairs, arms folded, observing the madness). The bird was definitely dead.
Next bit was to clear the mess... when I say there were feathers everywhere I really mean it!! I went to get the hoover. Nowhere to be seen and I realised it was locked in OH's bike shed. (I KEEP telling him to bring the hoover indoors!). I got the key, but couldn't open the door as it was jammed. So had to get down on my fours - using a brush and pan to sweep up the zillion feathers, while an excitable Jameson thought it was great fun to remove all the feathers again once in the pan, and why not try to attack the pan and chew on the feathers while you're at it? I have never been so stressed in my whole life. The bird was still lying dead on the patio, with millions of feathers around it, but I thought I'd leave that until OH comes back. In the meantime, of course, we had at least 3 different door sellers and gas meter readers ringing the door bell, pointing out that ''oh, there is a dead bird on your patio''.. Grrrrrr.
Oh, and did I mention I missed the massage appointment that I was on my way to?? How ironic.
I need to go and lie down now cos I feel a bit faint!
