There was a milky haze this morning, giving the half moon a halo. A single robin began chirping somewhere up the block when the sky had barely begun to pale. At that distance, the sound was not disturbing. Fewer birds are singing today. Perhaps the chill has induced them to remain huddled in their nests, or maybe word of last night's encounter of a fledgling with my cat has spread among them, making them more circumspect. Whatever the cause, the relative quiet is a nice change. Day begins placidly. A few thin clouds have now formed, and are flushing pink. I'm not expecting a reprise of yesterday's coolness. The solstice is only a few weeks away. Our luck probably won't hold out for long. The brain-wilting heat is bound to return, and the swarms of insects with it. Tonight, I shared the room with only an earwig and a solitary crane fly who sat quietly in a corner. Oh, and a cricket hopped in the front door when I opened it. If it doesn't find its way back out, most likely the cat will devour it. Well, better a cricket than a baby bird.
The fledgling is still alive, and still hanging around its nest. The parents are still around, too, but staying a bit farther away than they usually did, and no longer bringing snacks. I saw the little bird hopping about on the lawn, fetching its own food. It passed within two feet of me on its way back to the nest, and seemed none the worse for having taken a ride in a kitty's mouth yesterday. The bird is safe for this afternoon, at least. The day has turned warm, and the cat is napping on the shady back porch instead of the sunny front porch which overlooks the bush in which the birds nested. She'll probably be waking soon and coming around to the front of the house, though, so I hope the bird doesn't get too confident. I have no idea how long this species remains in its natal nest after having fledged, but it would behoove this particular bird to move on as soon as possible. Its parents chose a bad neighborhood.