Dolittle Do Late

As a fellow resident of the planet, I share a certain affinity for other members of this ecosphere we call earth, usually. For the most part the only things I don't like are cats (I had an unfortunate run in with a rogue feral cat turned assassin in a botched hit on me) and democrats.

So, when an injured bird mistook my back patio for a veterinary hospital, I took pity on the poor creature. It appeared to have an injury to its miniature bird pelvis, but I did not know the extent of its injury. I asked Maleen if I should take care of it. She and I agreed that one of the last things I want to have happen is to have a bird greet me after I've left this life and ask me why I offed it without trying to save it. The course of action decided then, I attempted to repair this feathered beast.



This is "Griffin." Or, more appropriately, was. You see I was Dolittle Do Late. He gave a rather weak attempt at surviving. As it turns out I should have offed the bird when I found him. Now I expect the post-mortal conversation to go something like this:

Griffin: So you're the guy that let me suffer and die in that cardboard coffin?

Me: Yup.

Griffin: You know I spent my last hours alone and in pain?

Me: Do you want me to kill you now? I know a good cat...

Oh well, I tried.