Hawk

He was about the size of a bread box, if you can remember what those look like.

I was just minding my own business, sitting at the table in front of the glass doors to the porch opening up my computer to the news and weather, drinking my morning tea and suddenly "Whack!" Windows rattled in the door. I was startled but looked up in time to see a hawk hit the porch floor.

Intellectually I knew he could not get in through the door to attack me but emotionally I did not want to take any chances so I tip-toed over to the door and peered out and down. He looked out for the count, a long count. Who do I call, I pondered, since I believed that hawks were an endangered species. Could I in anyway be blamed for this poor creature's demise?

Then, from his upside down position, I thought I saw his little wingtip flutter, or was it my imagination? Then a definite flutter, and another and then both wings were weakly trying to flap. Even upside down, or a little askew, he looked formidable. He was struggling but he was on his own. I was not about to open the door and help the creature, after all I saw Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Slowly up righting himself to a severe list he took a step and fell. Up again, tentative step and over he went again.

However you have to hand it to the tenacity of living things to want to survive. My cat, KatKarson, hearing the ruckus had meandered (Maine Coons do not speed) over to the window. Whether it was the sight of a cat who outweighed him by a few pounds or the fact that he really was recovering, the hawk spread out his wings and with a little list to starboard soared back out into the woods.

My tea was lukewarm. That's what I'm thinking about.