Flitting Little Reminders of Death

One of Chloe's cats caught a baby sugarbird today. It didn't kill it, but it was really hurt. From what I could see, it's wing was broken, and one of it's feet was nearly taken off. It was such a sad looking little thing. Peter came by and had a look and said it would probably be ok, so I felt a little more cheerful. I took it home and gave it water, and it started getting really interested in a piece of bread I'd soaked and put with it. It hopped in the little thing of water I'd set next to it, and seemed much perkier, flapping his poor little wings, and hopping on it's one foot. I figured he was tired from all the hopping and from surviving the cat attack, because he sat down and closed his eyes. But when I came back in to check on him a few minutes later he was dead. I love the little sugarbirds that are everywhere on St Marten, but now when I see them outside flying around I think of the sad little thing that died in my shoebox.

I tried to paint it, but I couldn't get it right, so I gave up and painted a purple panda instead.