Had the little birdo stayed around, I think Calamity would've been a good name. But as I mentioned in the previous entry, he didn't need a name. He knew what he needed and that was a Way Out.
Dried out and puffed up, he looked good. I was certain he was a baby sparrow. He looked like this googled picture though slightly larger and, presumably, feistier.
I ushered the cats into the closed-off bedroom, getting a few scratches in self-defense, and tried to get the bird to go back in his box. He clung fiercely to the edge of the screen door and most definitely did not want to go back in his box. Frankly, I don't blame him, cause he'd gone to the bathroom several times over the course of the evening. I sure as shootin' know I wouldn't want to go back to a poopy nest.
I soaked some Tiny Cat Pellets in water and offered them to the bird. He pecked at one but did not seem to care. I hadn't seen him hanging his mouth open anyway, so he wasn't very hungry yet. He might also have been old enough to eat on his own, though I'm not well-read on baby bird development just yet. All I know is that he wasn't sitting around going "help me help me help me", he was flying around going "Okay, smell you later, later, later."
He wouldn't let me pick him up, which is for the best -- he perched on my fingers a few times but only to fly back over to the screen door. As I watched him fly around the room I realized that he was much stronger and healther than I had thought. He probably didn't need my help anymore; he had just needed a place to rest and dry out overnight and I'd provided that. And who was I to say the best thing for him was to keep him in a poopy nest box and try to give him food he didn't want? I figured I'd fished him out of a veritable sidewalk river, so he'd received one new lease on life. If he wanted to use it back outside, that was fine with me.
I opened the screen door and sat back. The bird had been crouching in the corner at that last point. The door hung open, swaying slightly in the breeze. Birdo was still eyeing me warily.
"Go on," I said. "Don't let me keep you here." He was still staring at me. I nudged him around a bit in the direction of the door. He saw his opening and took it, flying out to the railing of my deck. Then he chirped a bit, which is something he hadn't done inside.
Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!
Then he took off and flew across to the branches of the nearby tree. He chirped for a bit more, then he flew off towards a tree across the street. His flight was steady though he paused at short intervals, but I think that's what all young birds do.
He's gonna be just fine.
Meanwhile, Mr. Abbie of Somerville has grown increasingly agitated as he cannot seem to find where that bird in the drawer has gone. So far it is clear the bird has not returned to the drawer, but we're still gonna keep checking at regular intervals just to make sure.