Weaning the bird

The Loser's temporary ward, a young catbird, sits on The Heart of Henry Quantum, a novel by Pepper Harding.

He admits that it has been rewarding, taking care of the bird he found nearly three weeks ago. It has grown into a tiny wild animal with insistent demands. The large cardboard box the Complete and Total Loser formed into a passable home for it after it survived the first few days is too small for it now, and it hurls itself against its newspaper roof with surprising force when put in it for the night, hard enough once to undo the piece of packing tape sealing the paper. It escaped into the kitchen. Not that the Loser minded that; the confinement is more for the bird's safety than anything else. It hasn't caught on to the difference between windows and open space and is saved from a broken neck by the lack of momentum it manages when flying in the house. 
It's been outside for nearly the entire day. The Loser sat outside wearing earplugs and reading as the bird kept up its litany of reasons on why it should be fed on demand instead of catch insects and worms for sustenance. With each day, the Loser grows more firm in his resolve to cut the apron strings. Yet he always relents. Today, the bird and his niece's cat—which the Loser will tend for the next three weeks, are the only beings he spoke to. 

A female house cat lies on a carpet.