RIP sweet pigeon. The cat brought you into our house, clutched in his mouth, and you looked dead. I'm sorry you were maimed, bleeding, ripped apart and still breathing.
You tried to fly away, splattering blood onto our walls, but alas..you were dying, the cat caught you again and turned you into a heap of torn wings and more blood.
A little too much blood and death before morning tea, not to mention cleaning of the walls.
Not all walls need cleaning though.
A dirty wall covered with gorgeous graffiti of exquisite memories can never be washed away.
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