It's me, Little Neal. This tasty little morsel is what Mom calls a Painted Bunting.
Looks like a bird to me.
He was with us for a couple of days, but we haven't seen him lately. I blame the squirrels. They have taken over everything.
They mock me, yelling nasty things from the trees whenever I go outside. They don't even run until I get right up on them. Mom says I shouldn't catch them and I remember that old Col. Bert (you remember the marmalade tabby we had?) he told me that he caught one once and it wasn't a good idea.
But, Bert was old. I'm young and a holy terror. I could rip one o their necks open in a flash.
Mom says the Painted Bunting is off limits, whatever. She loves them. She even drew a picture of one she saw on the island where we lived for a while.