THE MEANEST CAT IN VENICE
It is hard to imagine a more forlorn experience in the life of a young bird than to be suddenly pushed from the nest and find himself alone on a hard pavement. It is bad enough when it happens as the result of premeditation on the part of an unfeeling parent who has made up his mind that his offspring are quite able to shift for themselves, but, when it occurs from accident, it is nothing short of tragic.
Poor Chico, this was what had happened to him, and he had huddled, shivering, close to the column of St. Theodore and tried in vain to reason everything out in his pigeon mind. Many things had happened of late that he had not been able to understand. His mother, hitherto most attentive to his sister and himself, had suddenly ceased feeding them with the nice soft food they loved so well, at the same time refusing to cuddle them under her warm breast.
He remembered vaguely hearing her impatiently coo to his father, that he would have to look out for the fledglings, her duty was to the eggs. At the time he hadn't understood what she meant by eggs, although once or twice he had caught a glimpse of two white oval things under her breast which she seemed to be dreadfully proud of.
It wouldn't have been so bad if his father had been as affectionate as usual, but, on the contrary, he had treated his sister and himself as if they were in the way, and it was easy to see Father Pigeon would have greatly preferred crowding on the nest with his mate to getting food for two greedy fledglings.
In fact, that was how the accident had happened. Chico had been so unfortunate as to get in the way, with the result that he had been pushed out and had fallen to the ground.
Poor little naked fledgling, he had shivered and huddled close to the friendly column, for, even in summer, the breeze from the Adriatic often blows fresh and cool.
He had just begun to wonder how he should get anything to eat, when suddenly a shadow had come over him, causing him to crouch low in even, greater terror, while his heart thumped horribly, but before he could utter a sound he had been seized by a big warm hand, and a voice that was not unkindly had exclaimed:
"Did the little pigeon fall from the nest?"
In the warm comfort of Paolo's hand the bird had forgotten his fear, and his little heart had ceased to thump as he reflected this must be a human, and his mother had always taught him that "humans" were kind to birds in St. Mark's Square. So, with a feeling akin to confidence, he had allowed himself to be carried somewhere he did not know, and deposited In what he supposed was meant for a nest, although it was not bit like the nice, soft one to which he had accustomed.