The Straw Chick flies as fast as her wings will carry her to the third sister's new brick home.
"Cat, cat!" is all the Straw Chick is able to sing out upon arriving at her sister's home. Mind you, it is sung with great feeling and a skilled demonstration of the chick's musical range.
"That's all right. Come on in. My home is made of solid brick and has one of the most advanced security systems money can buy," says the Brick Chick.
So the Straw Chick swoops through the door to apparent safety.
In the time it takes for a frightened little bird's heart to beat a thousand times (and that's not very long by our standards), the cat pounces onto the limb where the brick house lay. CRACK! The sound of doom. The branch was already creaking and straining from the weight of a brick bird's nest, and now with the extra burden of the ferocious feline, it snaps in two.
Cat, birds and brick house crash to the ground crushing the cat. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you that the cat looks something like your mother's Red Jelly Surprise, you know, the one with marshmallows and coconut shavings, spilled all over the pavement, but that may be too graphic. Suffice it to say, this is one ex-kitty.
The cute chicks themselves (and I can say that without any gender slur) are alive with a few cuts and bruises, but so shaken up that they immediately check themselves into a Crisis Recovery Clinic with signs of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.
Hmm, as a guardian angel I would say that you didn't earn your wings on that one.
Copyright © February 1998 Katherine Phelps <firstname.lastname@example.org>.