ON EATING A COLD MANWICH

Earlier today I discovered Big Bear, the plush Siamese, sitting in the laundry room, positioned as if he had been sent to sit in the corner.  He was, however, not wearing a dunce cap.  The dunce, disguised as Chloe Hobo the dog, was standing behind him wagging happily and appeared to be peeking over his shoulder.  I stopped to see if perhaps they were watching a spider, but didn't see one.  (They have been known to fight over a moth.) 
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Later, the two of them joined up with Harry, the sentinel (on break) and met me in the kitchen to inquire about lunch.  Then just as I sat down to enjoy a freshly made manwich (prepared with the new chunky sauce, dolloped onto a slice of cheese on the bun and topped with sweet relish) the dunce came roaring by, yapping loudly, hair standing.  She headed for the laundry room with the two cats scrambling after her. 
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Naturally, I had to drop the sandwich and run when I heard a 'scree, scree,scree' sound.  That must have been quite a sight, me, the cats and the dunce dog all running madly through the house.  When I arrived in the laundry room, I discovered the source of the noise.  There, in the very same afore-mentioned corner was a baby bird, not tiny-tiny, possibly a blackbird just out of the nest.  Then came the scramble to get everyone out of the room, except the baby. Whew!
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My son then took the baby bird out and released it into the "wild".  And you know what?  The cold manwich wasn't so bad.

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