Scratching

I was waiting for the laundry to be done. There was a scratching, and a tapping from the glass door of the balcony. I ignored it, but a little later I realised that it was coming from the ceiling. Wondering if it was a mouse, a bat, or some other creature, I let it be. But it continued.

So I tapped the ceiling with the end of a mop. The noises stopped. Then they resumed several minutes later. I tapped here and there on the ceiling, and the noises would stop temporarily. So I unfolded the ladder, and entered the ceiling of my home through the usual loosened ceiling boards that are there for this purpose. With a flashlight, I found a speechless bird in one corner. It was a weak-looking bird, and I considered nursing it before letting it go.

I picked it up, and it did not seem to attack me, but it screeched and squawked in its little bird voice. Unfortunately, in the short time that I had known this bird, I did not invest sufficiently in empathy with its plight. I made my way to the edge of the ceiling, and dropped it outside, through a space under the roof tiles.

Farewell, bird, I wish you well, knowing that your lifespan will probably be shorter than mine, but that mine may be shorter than your own.

Now it is time to finish the laundry.