Neighborhood Mockingbird

And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt. – Matthew 26:39.

Being a juror this week has been a horrible and awful experience. I seriously considered and reconsidered being sick. But this has been an experience that I would wish on no one, not even the alternates. This ordeal is over and I am now permitted to speak about it. I have a lot to say and the complete story will eventually dribble out. For now, I look forward to going back to work today. Back to my mundane routine and then a weekend’s respite.

Atticus Finch: I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he’d rather I’d shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted – if I could hit ’em; but to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird.
Jem: Why?
Atticus Finch: Well, I reckon because mockingbirds don’t do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat people’s gardens, don’t nest in the corncrib, they don’t do one thing but just sing their hearts out.

There is one exception to the kill a mockingbird prohibition. That would be the mockingbird that use to poop all over my front porch. There was never any gunplay involved with his disappearance. I’ve always suspected the alpha predator, the cat that lived across the street, but I have no proof.