lookin' funny/funny lookin' - part 1

I'm watching my upstairs neighbor's cats. Because they asked me to. They are away and fond of their cats, I am near and fond of any cats. It's a win-win situation. Motorhead is the cat whose shadow I once mistook for an owl. We are, for all intents and purposes, best friends. Godzilla, the fluffy not fat but who's to say really because she won't let me touch her with a ten foot pole, however, looks at me like I am an alien. That's ok. I am comfortable with my human form. Being stared at wide eyed by a hissing black ewok would be unnerving if it weren't so cute.

On my way to Geode's, I passed a dead bird on the sidewalk. And by passed I mean took a giant step to avoid stepping upon, by bird I mean the partial remains of one. Two more steps and I stopped, turned back. No creature deserves that kind of indignity. Not having gloves of any kind with which to move the bird with, I scooted it with the toe of my boot. In the process, I lost my balance and stepped on the wing, almost snapping it. Finally placing it on the grass by the white picket fence, I looked up to see if anyone was watching me. At the exact moment that the fear 'people are gonna think I'm crazy' crossed my mind, I espied Bo Oddessy walking up the sidewalk on the other side of John St. He is dressed rather tame today, a bright orange knit cap, grayish pink wool coat, and tan kilty skirt. I know the twinkling sounds surrounding him are emanating from a fanny pack hidden by the folds of his coat, though, I like to think that it is his white beard making that sound. He turns the corner, I turn back to the bird. In lieu of a proper burial (or perhaps this is proper enough), I drag a few wet leaves over the bones, hold them down with wet twigs, top it off with a dewy feather. I stand up tall with my respects and for a moment, this bird and I are all that exist.