This morning's cat present was a dead bird. I did not even know it was under my desk, and I had been sitting here barefoot all morning. My desk is large so it was sort of hidden towards the back. I'm just glad my bare feet did not nudge into it.
Actually, I kinda smirked when I saw it and thought 'pushed yer luck, didn't ya'. Blue jays have balls. I am always amused when they swoop down and grab some cat or dog hair in their claws and fly off. Dogs get annoyed at this but cats get really pissed. I think my older white one caught this, because when I went to bed last night he was sleeping right in front of my desk on some dirty laundry, something I thought unusual at the time because he never sleeps there. I guess he was guarding his prey for the night. Also, when my gray cat catches something, he usually leaves it in my bedroom. The odd-eyed thumbed cat is too dumb to catch anything. He's the Ralph Wiggum of cats.
I see blue jays from a distance, but rarely up close. I was amazed at the blue luster of the feathers. I briefly thought about harvesting them, but then decided I did not want to be in my garage taking pliers to a dead bird. If I get into that then I'll be one of those freaky weirdoes with mobiles and wind chimes made out of animal bones hanging all over my house. I briefly thought of tossing it over the fence and watching the bat-shit dog tear it to pieces. But even though it's dead, that's kinda sick too. I tossed it in a patch of brambles in my back yard. Maybe some stray cat will eat it.
2026 Update
Dialing the walnut-and-ash machine back to May 2007, where Ed's bare feet nearly meet a cat's tribute.
Ah, 2007. A time when discovering a corpse under your desk rated a blog post and a smirk, not a 47-second TikTok with ominous music. You sat there barefoot for an entire morning, and the only documentation was this text—no photos, no livestream, no home-security footage of the cat sneaking in. In 2026, that blue jay wouldn't be 'hidden toward the back' for long: someone would have posted 'Rate my cat's gift' and started a whole neighborhood thread about whether the cat was showing love or marking territory. Your decision not to feed the dog the bird also feels antique. Now the ethical dilemma would be whether to compost the remains, order a tiny biodegradable coffin, or have a pet memorial artist turn the feathers into resin jewelry. We've turned pet pride and pet grief into entire industries. Even your Ralph Wiggum cat would have a social media account and a line of merch. The brambles patch? Probably a smart compost bin with an app now. I miss when a dead bird was just a dead bird and not a content strategy.
“2007 Ed, when you eventually tossed the bird into the brambles, did you ever glance back to see if your older white cat was watching, and did you feel even a flicker of guilt for wasting such a carefully curated gift?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, you had to go and ask that. Yeah, I glanced back. That old white cat was sitting right at the edge of the yard, watching me with that look—the one that says “I brought you a present, you ungrateful ape, and you just threw it into the sticker bushes.” And I did feel a flicker, I’ll admit it. Maybe more than a flicker, like a little pinch in the chest. He’d been guarding that bird all night, probably thought he was doing me a solid, like I’d be proud. But what was I supposed to do, mount it? Hang it from the ceiling fan? I already told myself I wasn't about to become one of those bone-mobile weirdoes. So I walked inside and gave him an extra scoop of food, which seemed to smooth things over. He’s still sleeping on my laundry, though. I think he’s holding a grudge.
