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!