50th Summer, 517 AV The Kniran Gardens The park was a sight to behold, arching avenues of colorful flowers and lush green plants, the artisan lake a shiny mirror to magnify the stones, benches, and gazebos into multitudes. And birds! So many trills and tweets, squeaks and chirps, the flash and whiz of their wings all about - a true temptation. Surely one or two wouldn’t be missed? Salara crouches atop a large stone bench, motionless underneath breeze-blown trees. The sea winds waft and dance gently with the folds of a bright red scarf loosely tied about her neck – token ‘collar’ identifying her as ‘Someone’s.’ Waiting with only the occasional twitch to the very end of her tail reveals her wakefulness. She’d been there all morning and into the afternoon without luck. They were quick, these bright songbirds. She’d waited patiently for the birds to disregard her presence and land nearer; but each time she pounced from her perch they’d flutter away trilling alarms, nothing but wingtips whipping her whiskers. There were some strange ones to be sure and not knowing their names she named her favorites. There was the Red Warbler – a noisy batch of red birds with sooty black crests. Small flocks of Purple Jades flitted around the bushes. There was even an odd little bird she called a Croaker. It spent a lot of time around the water’s edge. She didn’t think those looked very appetizing. Her very favorite? She called it a ‘Cur’ because it reminded her of a little yippy dog. Most often she tried for these ones just to silence their yappy cries. As she considered plans to bring birdseed with her for bait next time, her statuesque efforts are rewarded as a fat long-feathered bird lands near. It had a funny strut that poked it’s grey head in and out of a ruff of blending orange, yellow, green, and blue feathers. If possible, her body becomes even more ridged as it bobbed and pecked closer, closer. Adjusting her hips with a slight shift of back feet, a tick passes then hind legs push scrabbling back claws across the stone bench as forepaws stretch reaching for the tender cooing morsel. In an instant it was done. Razor sharp claws pierce the feathery ruff as she skids past the point of impact, sliding to a stop with a mouthful of feathers like a beard bristling about her muzzle, a thin trickle of blood leaks from the corner of her mouth at a crunch. Jerking her head up to toss the mangled carcass to her back teeth she crunches it into a more malleable shape to swallow. And WHAM! Something solid slams against the top of her head with a screech, “PIPPIN! OH!! You’ve kilt Pippin!” A lot shocked and slightly stunned, it takes Salara a moment to finish gulping her food as another WHACK jars the back of her neck. “OH! You petchin’ cat! I’ll Know You!” Gagging slightly on her meal, Salara gathers her feet beneath her to dart under the stone bench and race down another path away from the cane-wielding woman before she could get in another hit. A wail of, “My Poor PIPPPPPINNNNN,” follows in her wake. But something wasn’t right. The cougar shakes her head, gapping her jowls, trying to work her throat to finish swallowing the bird. Slowing from trot to walk, she hacks without effect. Working her tongue around the obstruction at the back of her throat it seems one of the bird’s scaly legs had become wedged between her back teeth. Mewling in distress she tries to rake her front dewclaws against her teeth to dislodge the feathered body slowly blocking her breath. There was just enough sense through her panic to know that if she shifted she would surely suffocate so she needed to find Fallon to help her. Shaking her head again with a useless hack she takes a few more strides forward wondering how the ground was so much closer as her knees buckle. Her sight dims under gray mists to black. The cougar lay sprawled flat on her side with only a slight wheeze pushing life-giving air into starving lungs. |