“Stand between the living room and hallway and wave your arms,” she begged.
Laurent launched into the hallway with the net, and Kim and I blocked the way into the living room. And there it came, a frightened, flapping hummingbird, down the stairwell, into the hall, up against the front door frame, past our outstretched fingers, and into the living room, Laurent pounding after it, swinging the net. The bird staggered against one wall, up to the ceiling, across the room to another wall, back out into the hall, and down toward the closed kitchen door. A determined Laurent trounced after it, swishing the net.
“Is it bleeding? It is bleeding, isn’t it,” Nina wailed.
It didn't stay still long enough for us to check, as it propelled itself toward the living room. This time Kim and I jumped up and down, flailing our arms, fingers stretched high. The bird veered back along the ceiling and thwacked straight into the net, froze, and slid down the screening as Laurent bounded for the open front door. Just as he reached it, the bird hurled itself out into the safety of the wide open sky.
Outside, on the cool cement of the front porch, sat their black and white cat, watching proudly.