Yesterday my cat killed a hummingbird. She left the little bird on my front porch. My mother told me I needed to clean it up because she cleaned up the sparrow Rosie left last week. I opened the front door and looked at the mat.
It was tiny, even smaller than I expected it to be. It was lying on its back, a cream colored belly looking up at me, small dark brown head, teeny little feet (claws? talons?). Once lightning wings now halted and tucked reverently at its sides. She must've hit it hard with her paw. She has strong, clawless paws. There was no blood, no guts. But looking at it, in stark contrast to the apple green doormat, what could be classified as indifference turned to upset.