May 24, 2017 by Petrea
Wilma Wednesday: Manna
“Come see! Come come come!”
Wilma is so excited she’s almost dancing as she leads me outside to show me her new prized possession. A dead rat lies on its back in the middle of the yard.
“I found a rat!”
“You sure did.”
There are no signs of carnage: no bite marks, no blood. We live in the city and there are bound to be rats. That’s why we have coyotes. But the only rat that’s slow enough to be “found” is either sick or already dead. I’m concerned about poison.
“Wilma, where did you get this rat?”
“It came from the sky!”
“Rats don’t fly,” I say. It’s not like Wilma to lie. “Did you kill it?”
“No. It landed here.”
I look up. Ah, there’s the answer. A hawk—a Cooper’s Hawk, I think—is perched atop the telephone pole, watching us.
“Let’s go inside, sweetie. The hawk wants to come back for his rat.”
“No. It is my rat.”
“What are you going to do with a rat?”
“I will keep it.”
“Nope. Inside.” She goes when I tell her to, though I believe I hear a “harrumph.”
If that hawk doesn’t pick up his lunch, I have a task for John when he gets home.