Cat amongst the pigeons

You may remember I murdered a blue tit.

Well this weekend I had a feeling of déjà vu vis-à-vis bird murder.

I had been into town and was returning home without front door keys so I rang the bell, knowing that the rest of the family were in the house.

After three rings and no response I went for the annoying bell ring to attract attention.

A flustered husband came to the door, opened it and then walked off muttering huffily "There's a pigeon in the garden."

I was a tad confused. We often have pigeons in the garden. The damn birds have taken to nesting in the hoppers that collect rainwater from the guttering. Bemused I followed grumpy hubby into the garden where I saw the issue.

Next to the back door was a fledgling pigeon. On the lawn, and in the cat's mouth, were a small number of feathers. Splattered on the side of the house were a few drops of pigeon blood.

Our frightened bird seemed relatively undamaged. It had obviously thought it was time to leave the hopper nest but hadn't quite mastered wing flapping. Sydney, the cat, had spied an opportunity and pounced.

In the absence of people that know what to do in this kind of situation, Dave and I decided we needed to put the bird somewhere outside, near its parents but out of reach of Syd.

After a bit of thought the parapet above the playroom bay window seemed ideal.

On its first night we checked and pigeon stayed huddled in a corner.

On the second night the pigeon was gone.

I have assumed that the bird survived because Syd didn't have any feathers sticking out of his mouth and the lawn was devoid of evidence too.

I'm hoping this makes up for the blue tit debacle although I would rather the blue tit survived and the pigeon kicked the bucket.