The Flying Flea, Callie and Me [Paperback]

Who ever heard of a cat that didn't eat birds?
The house people had picked me out of my litter to be a mouser. Callie was getting too old for the job. So it was mine. But I didn't plan on getting dive-bombed by a mockingbird building her nest...or adopting the baby who fell out. No joke! I'm a cat, but I donoteat birds. Mice, yes. Birds, no. Flea -- that's what I named her -- couldn't even fly. She was so scared when she toppled onto my head that she said, Eat me...it's quicker than starving to death.
She was pathetic. I had to help her. The first step was protecting Flea -- and me -- from the monster rats in the barn (that'ssaying a mouthful!) and Bullsnake under the woodpile. Next, Callie and I had to teach Flea to fly. After all, how could she stay up North with us when her bird family was flying to Florida. I'm not a Florida kind of cat. It's just too hot for us furry types. I know I'll miss my Flea. But she'll come back -- after she's seen the world!Chapter 1

I strolled toward the porch with my trophy. My feet and tail were wet from the morning dew. The night hunt had been a good one. I climbed the steps and dropped the remains of the last mouse on the mat. The House Mama would beso proudof me when she found it. From the porch I could see the hayfield where the mice played every night. Most of them were sleeping now, but when it got dark I would return for another hunt.

The leaves of the apple tree near the driveway shook from the gentle summer breeze as I walked down the sidewalk away from the house. My whiskers twitched when I saw Mocking-bird fly back and forth from the pasture to the apple tree. I sat down to wash my front paws.

She seemed to be working very hard adding twigs to the pile she was collecting on a branch. I trotted toward the woodpile under the apple tree. As soon as Bird flew off to the pasture once more, I hopped up the stacked logs to take a look for myself. A soft hissing sounlC%