Pretty Feathered Thing

I, Misty the Brave, have spotted a beautiful gift for my Mom, a Pretty Feathered Thing. I crouch, stare, huff a little in my excitement. I see it preparing to take flight, and I pounce. Got it! I toss my head, and it stills.

I prance up the stairs and through the flapping entryway. I break into loud cries of triumph. Mom, see what I brought you! Look at it! See my prowess! See the beauty I bring! Look at me! Look at me, Mom! Here it is for you! I, the mighty huntress, have brought you this gift! Look at me! Look at this! Look!!

I keep up my triumphant boasts until Mom stirs on her bed. Slowly and crankily she stands up and puts that weird metal framework on her face. She steps into the hallway and looks at me and my gift. I cease my boasts; she sees my gift.

Dammit, she says. She picks up my gift and I start purring. She gets a white sheet and wraps the gift and puts it away. I don’t see where it goes, but do notice that it is no longer there. I search around where it was. I still smell it, but I can’t see it anymore. What has she done with it? I scratch and claw at the place where I last saw it. Not there. Hunh. My triumph was brief, but satisfying. Must do this again sometime.