So, there I was, watching Teletubbies with my Son on my lap at 5:30am this morning, when a noise that I can only describe as akin to a snowball hitting a window alerted me to the fact that we weren't the only two mortal beings awake at such an ungodly hour.
Cheered by this, I looked left to see feathers settling on my windowsill, both inside and outside of the window. We stealthily crept over to investigate and it became apparant that a bird had flown into the window, bounced off and hit the patio - already there was a HUGE cat, looking to pounce upon the wounded prey.
With the missus upstairs in bed, we did the only thing we could - rushed downstairs into the kitchen and out of the back door to confront the feral feline and save the askew avian adventurer.
After a brief skirmish the cat ran away. It was then I realised that I didn't really know what to do with the injured bird, like feck was I taking care of it, so I did what any other reponsible person would do. I shouted for the lesbians that live next door to come and help me. They did too, catching the thrush in a damp () towel and hieing it away to the safety of their debauched dwelling.
I treated the lad to chocolate buttons for breakfast instead of Cherios because, goddamnit, he deserved it.