FOR LOVE OF A CAT, one can become accustomed to gifts of mole and rat or parts thereof (and the subsequent carryings-out of their limp little forms).
Live baby birds are harder. Especially when they peep from inside the plastic bag you’ve automatically scooped them into. Best then to cradle them treeward in a makeshift nest and offer them to their parents, or to God. (Not that there’s much difference to a baby bird.)
This also works as metaphor; for when the cat leaps in the window, we’d better be prepared to cope, forgive, and paddle away from the moment as fast as the clock will let us. It’s not that cats intend to be cruel — for all I know, he was saying, “Look what I found! Heal it!” It’s just how they’re wired to see and respond to the world; in the same fashion (but along different lines) as ourselves.
The question is, “How far do you love?” And is there more than one answer?