“Hey, how long was the cat in the house today?” Allan asked me suspiciously.
“I don’t know, why?”
“Well, I was just in the master bathroom, and I’m pretty sure he killed a bird in there!”
“That’s ridiculous,” I protested. “Lightning is old and no longer has any eye teeth so he can’t kill anything! Besides, how on earth could a bird even get inside the house?”
“I dunno. But there are gray and white feathers on the counter right beside the sink!”
A light dawned in my fuzzy brain. “Oh-oh, I gave myself a haircut in the bathroom earlier, and I took at least three fistfuls of hair clippings to the wastebasket but maybe I forgot the last batch.”
Allan shook his head. “No, feathers, definitely feathers,” he insisted. I detected a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
By then I had entered the bathroom. The abandoned hair clippings really did look like feathers.
But poor old Lightning was off the hook. I was the culprit.
Ah, the joys of wildlife. And, oh, the joys of living with Allan’s sense of humor.