The first time this happened, I was a bit freaked out, cos I’ve seen that movie.
Twenty or thirty birds swooping in and out of my stoep, in and out. In, touch the wall and out. In, touch the ceiling and out. It wasn’t just because I was frightened that my cats would decide it was the right time to work on their hunting skillset, but something about all that flapping, frenetic energy that gave me the willies in a Hitchkokian sense.
Apparently quite normal according to my neighbours.
This morning they were back and with a loud thump, one of them connected with the window and it was lights out. On the back, still breathing, but clearly seriously stunned. After scrambling to keep the cats otherwise occupied, I left the little thing to recover, not with high hope. It was a baby, the feathers were still wet. Later I saw it was on its feet, but not moving very much. At that point the kitten came around the corner, caught a glimpse and … too late, off it flew, yay.
I do love happy endings.