She had one broken gossamer wing, and I scooped her up from the sidewalk with some newspaper I pulled from the trash. I rushed her back to the house before anyone could see what I’d found.
“Thirsty,” she murmured weakly. I gave her whole milk from an eyedropper. I constructed a bed out of a basket of plastic grass that I had left over from Easter.
A week later she was flying around the apartment, asking all sorts of personal questions, digging through my things, and studiously avoiding the plate glass windows she made me mark with masking tape crosses.