The Cardinal and the Mirror Beast
A Whimsical Tale Based on Mostly True Events
Every morning, just as the sun began casting gold across the driveway, I’d step outside—coffee in one hand, keys in the other—ready to face the day like a responsible, mildly caffeinated adult.
And every morning, without fail, I’d find it.
A single splash of white defiance.
Always in the same place.
Driver’s side window.
Poised like a signature from some skyborne vandal.
It wasn’t random. No, I could feel the intent behind it.
Like a declaration: “This is my truck now, human.”
At first, I blamed the usual suspects. Pigeons, maybe. A rogue blue jay with digestive issues. Perhaps the wind had it out for me, too. But the mystery deepened with every scrub of paper towel and sigh of exasperation.
Then, one fateful morning, the truth revealed itself. I was standing by the window, halfway through a sip of lukewarm coffee, when a flash of crimson darted into view.
A cardinal.
Bright. Brazen. Beautiful.
And absolutely unhinged.
He zipped around my truck with all the subtlety of a toddler on espresso, landing squarely on the driver’s side mirror. There, he puffed up his chest, tilted his head… and launched an all-out assault.
Peck. Flutter. Screech.
He wasn’t just flailing. He was dueling.
I squinted. Was he fighting… himself?
Indeed. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection. A perfect twin. Smug. Taunting. Unyielding.
To the cardinal, this wasn’t a peaceful suburban parking area.
It was a battlefield.
And the mirror? A portal where a doppelgänger mocked him daily.
He attacked with gusto. Feathers fluffed like war banners, beak jabbing with the fury of a thousand tiny sword fights. And then, mid-skirmish—just when he’d worked himself into a proper frenzy—he let loose his secret weapon:
A long, looping ribbon of bird poop.
Direct hit.
Driver’s side window. Same spot as always.
A victory salute, perhaps. Or maybe nerves.
Either way, he fled the scene a hero in his own mind.
And so, the pattern was revealed.
Not an accident. Not a prank by nature.
Just one proud cardinal, doing battle with his reflection and leaving behind the spoils of war.
I’ve since tried to warn him. Hung a paper bag. Covered the mirror. Left notes in polite bird-speak. Nothing worked. He always returned, like clockwork, with the same dramatic flair.
Now, I simply nod each morning.
“Morning, General.”
He chirps once, pecks twice, and proceeds to poop with purpose.
We have an understanding, the cardinal and I.
I clean. He conquers.
And in this suburban saga, he remains undefeated.
– Copyright © 2025
I just love this story. The realism hits you in the face. So funny.