I was looking forward to writing this morning about the tree swallows that were showing great interest in the bird house my Uncle Bud made (he died the beginning of April) for John and I as a wedding present. (Uncle Bud was a great woodworker. I have gorgeous wood jewel boxes, too, that he lovingly made.) I had hung the birdhouse on a hook from the wash line pole about five feet off the ground. I thought it would be cat proof since there were no trees or poles for them to climb to get to the bird house. I was wrong. As I stepped out the door of the sun porch the black cat, who was hovering below, jumped six feet straight up in the air, caught the male, leaped to the ground and tried to run off. I was on the cat, yelling at her to drop it. Sometimes I can make her drop her prey before they are hurt, but she must have snapped the bird's neck because it was dead and bloody by the time I got it. This all happened in less than a minute, maybe less than 30 seconds. It made me so mad at that cat, and so sad for the female tree swallow who kept circling the bird house. I was so happy to have the tree swallows come to build a nest. We've never seen them before. It's the blessing of the high water which has brought so many birds this year. It is the irony of life that blessings also bring curses.