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[size=22pt]Spire [/size]
that thou, light-wingéd dryad of the trees,
singest of summer in full-throated ease.
unaffiliated || teller || {profile}
The house was large and painted a light brown, and the roof was the colour of chocolate; this pleased the little green hummingbird, who had tasted a few crumbs of the stuff once, and found them well palatable. He buzzed thoughtlessly around the cat's head. His name was Remembrance. An odd name, surely. Perhaps his mother had been very afraid of forgetting things. The hummingbird did not mind forgetting things; he had never really suffered from it, and he had never forgotten anything vital, like the colour of food-flowers, or the taste of nectar. It was a strange name in any case, and he wondered if it might have some other significance, but there was really no need to consider that until later.
The important thing was that this cat - Remembrance, of the strange graceful step, and the strange bright eyes, and the strange smooth black fur (as smooth as the petals of flowers), and the strange silver disc hanging from his neck, and the strange low voice, and yes! the strange name, had brought him here to show him something. The cat, who was very careful of what he said so as not to be often wrong, had told him he would like it. He was strange in many ways: he spoke the language of birds, and he was not a kitty-pet, for Spire had never seen him near the houses of the Tall Walkers; but he really was not often wrong.
The hummingbird was called Spire. He was a vivid green, with patches of iridescent violet around the sides of his head, and iridescent turquoise on his chest. He was not especially excited; it was only that everything else moved so very slowly, and he was growing bored. He circled the cat's head again, brushing the top of his ears with the tip of a wing, but inciting no response. The house was still some way distant, and the cat went so slowly. All cats went slowly when they were not running. When they were running they were as fast as Spire, but they were so large, it ought to be easier for them.
Time passed. A small fly, flapping its wings lazily, came close to the cat's back; Spire darted forward and swallowed it out of the air, and the cat looked over his back to see what the disturbance was. "You will spoil your appetite, Spire," said he. "That is your fifth."
"It looks to me as if I will be hungry again before you have crossed this field," he chirruped.
"You are going to need more patience than that, Spire, if we are to spend any amount of time together." He stole suddenly across the grass, and leapt to the top of the fence. "Look there."
There was no question of his meaning. Directly across the garden, hanging from the porch, there was a bright red tubular construct that stood clearly out from the rest. The hummingbird went directly over it, and the cat - glancing about the empty place - dropped down from his post and followed. As he sat on the railing next to the thing, Spire flitted around it, studying it.
It was somewhat cone-shaped, and through the clear plastic he could see a liquid the colour of syrup filling its inside. The base was brightly and pleasantly coloured, and held a number of small holes just large enough for him to drink from, each served by a little protruding perch. It was suspiciously like a flower, and was certainly not a flower; clearly there was meant to be some resemblance between them, but he could not trust that.
"This is some sort of snare," he decided.
"Is it, now?" the cat murmured, waving his tail to and fro, and studying him with those bright blue eyes. "That is terrifically astute of you. What manner of snare?" He seemed entirely complacent in the matter. It was no use trying to convince a bird on a subject they had already set themselves on.
"It is something meant to lure simple-minded birds in, clearly, and have them try to drink from it. Then there is some sort of mechanism inside that will trap them, and they will be taken away."
"Indeed!" cried the cat. "And the reason?"
He pondered this a little while, and answered, "I cannot say, except that the Tall Walkers sometimes take birds away. They took a friend of mine in a net, once, and he was never heard from again. I have been caught too in the past - they gave me this metal band around my leg, and it has troubled me ever since, though they let me go again."
"Well," said the cat at last, "you are pretty much right. But there is, of course, a way to make it safe." He leaned over and prodded the device gently with a paw, making it rotate slowly on its string. "There, now it is safe."
"That is all?" the hummingbird enquired, in curious tones.
"That is all. They have a very low opinion of the intelligence of birds."
"Very well," and he alighted on a perch, and drew a sip from the feeder. "It is very sweet," he said, "but a little stale."
"Is that so? It is a pity," the cat said, languidly.
He tasted it again. "Yes, and somewhat bland in the taste, I think. I should be miserable, if I had to take this all the time. But I am very thankful," he assured the cat. "It is much better than starvation, and I really will have a place to go in the winter. I never did much like having to migrate, any way."
"Really," sighed the cat. "If you are happy, that is certainly enough," and he slid easily down from the railing, leaving the garden amid the susurrus of rustling leaves.
"Finally!" said the hummingbird to himself. "Now I need not fear having to share with any one," and he began to gulp down the sweet liquid in delightful draughts.
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[size=16pt] m i d t i m e .[/size]
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Otherwise, iambic pentameter would be my second choice, though I won't restrict you.