Another hummingbird found its way into our garage on Friday and couldn’t find its way out again. Leah noticed it around the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t really try to catch it because my recent history of trying to do that has been discouraging. The last time this happened, the hummingbird eventually disappeared. We still don’t know whether it got out or was caught by one of the cats.

In this case, Leah saw our little hunter cat Sylvester up on top of the opened garage door, close to the same height as where the bird was flying. She yelled at him, and he ran. So after that I looked out every so often to see whether the hummingbird was still there, and whether a cat was looking for it.

It was there when we left to eat. We got back at about 9 PM, and the hummingbird was still in the garage. I thought I might have a chance to catch it. I knew that it would tend to fly around the overhead light if I turned it on. I hoped it was desperate enough that it would ignore me, so I erected our 8-foot ladder under the light, got a dark towel, climbed up and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. The bird flew towards the light, bouncing up against the ceiling, and I was able to gently capture it in the towel.

It made one of the most pitiful sounds I have ever heard. Sometimes the trapped hummingbirds chirp, and sometimes they’re silent. This one had chirped occasionally, but the sound it made now was not a chirp. It was the weak, mewing sound of hopelessness.

I carried it out and draped the towel over a tall shrub at the edge of the driveway. It laid on the towel with its wings outspread, breathing hard. It didn’t fly away. I didn’t know whether I had hurt it when I caught and carried it, or whether it was just tired and scared.

It was beautiful. Its body was iridescent in the lights from the front of the garage. I thought I would get my camera and try to capture some of that beauty. So I went in and got the camera. When I got back out, the hummingbird was gone. I looked around but didn’t see it. It was fully dark by then, but our outdoor lights cast at least a little illumination on the surrounding trees. It might have been able to fly up into one of the trees. If it did, I assume it can either find its way home or spend the night and get some rest, and then eat a hearty breakfast at our feeder in the morning.

At least I hope so.