I did not play with toys much, although I had a lot of them. Piles upon piles of toy plushies covered my bedroom floor idly. The room looked uninhabitable, and it mostly was. Back in the day you wouldn’t find me stroking my barbies hair with a bright pink hairbrush, I’d much rather spend my time adventuring with my neighborhood friends, or even by myself. Sun covered my skin like a blanket, freckles, who were once hiding, came to say hello on my nose and shoulders. There is not a day where I wasn’t outside. Listening to the friendly calls of the animals living in my neighborhood, I grew curious. My parents' remarks seemed to go in one ear and out the other, “Kathryn, you have an unhealthy obsession with animals.” Childishly, I’d find nests or ponds, just spending hours there. Sitting and observing. The desperation ran through me when I’d trespass on people’s territory just to sneak a glance at some baby birds. Sometimes getting too close. 

My neighbor Owen had this cute little cherry blossom tree. Before the baby-breath pink blossoms would bud there were old, hard red berries that we would collect in mass numbers. Small hands, throwing these red cherries, we’d wage war on each other behind fragile stick fortresses.

 On a particularly sunny day, I was collecting my “cherry bomb” stash when a quaint bird house in the tree caught my eye. It looked like it could have been made by a third grader. Once bright colors faded away by the weekly refreshing rain. The nails stuck out of each side, half finished. Getting too close, a small Kathryn scared a bluejay out of its home. It flew out, but there was still rustling coming from the inside. On my toes, I reached up to see what could possibly be inhabiting the shelter… only to be paraded with those little cherry bombs by Owen. Owen–his head held high–boasted that he had won the round. His laughter filled the air. My curiosity died in an instant, and I ran to the safety of my stick fortress. 

Later that day I found myself thinking of that bird house, is anything living in it? I had to go back, and that I did. With Owen inside, not knowing I came over, I pushed the branches aside to reach my  target. Opening the faded color door, the same bird flew out. It stayed close. It seemed angry. I reached in with curious hands. As my arm retreated from the house, a baby bird came with it. This had been my biggest heist yet. Previously, I had made the bottom of my backpack the most comfortable I could. I put the bird in and I was off. Biking excitedly back, my parents would never find out that I had a new pet.