Small bird on the kitchen floor

I have no idea how it got in there, but this morning, I went down to the kitchen, followed by a herd of very animated cats, all of whom seemed to be talking about the same thing. Since usually, this means their food dishes are empty, I got the bag of food and topped up the dishes (which were not empty) and noticed a couple of small, gray feathers in one of the dishes. Looking a little further, there was a small sparrow on the floor, dead. It looked like it'd been chewed on a little, but not to the point of being dismembered. Remember, my cats are morons and several of them don't regard anything but small brown triangles as food, let alone a bird.

I picked the bird up and tossed it out under the big pine tree. I have no idea how it could have gotten into the kitchen, since there are no open windows or doors and there was no sign of glass breaking or anything like it. Somehow, it managed to get in, and cats probably played with it until it broke... then they got bored and walked away.

It's what they do. As I said, my cats are morons.

I hate days like today. Rainy, cold, misty. Days like this remind me of being poor and homeless years ago, walking in the rain for miles to get where I needed to go because even bus fare wasn't within my means. Glasses all fogged up, coat soggy, shoes squishing along the shoulder of some road or street. I hate being reminded of those times. I suffered pretty badly during the Reagan Depression, and anything that brings back those times makes me want to stay in bed under flannel sheets, preferably with a kitten or two next to me. Or maybe going to a diner and having endless chicken stew.

Even back then, poor and with nowhere to go, that's the kind of things these cold, wet days conjured up. Flannel sheets, warm cats, and chicken stew.

It's not that far away in the past.