Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Lambert curses -- but very, very quietly -- when the bird flutters away. The strange little vest it's got on definitely means is someone's pet, anyway, though it would probably too much to hope it conveniently has a name and address he can call for it to get picked up.

The cat reacts about as well as can be expected from having a bit of fur yanked so so suddenly when it's having a peaceful nap -- meaning it shoots about a foot straight up in the air yowling fit to bring the house down, and bolts off for the nearest dark, quiet, hiding spot, leaving a bit of fur in the bird's beak. That gets the other cats to start up, meowing in distress, and Lambert nearly falls off the ladder in his hurry to get off, dropping the towel. Forget trying to be responsible and catch the damn thing; if it came from outside, it can damn well go back out there.

"Then let's get it back out," he says, decisively. The cats aren't likely to make a break for it, so he shuffles over to one of the sliding windows, pushing it aside to let the breeze in.