There's a crow in my attic. I've made him my pet. I feed him strawberries and cream. His cage hangs from the rafters, its bars catch the light from the window that faces the tree. My crow must be happy - I'm happy with him! I visit with him every day. But wait -- there's a problem. He tries to break free every night around twenty of three. His cawing makes such a miserable sound as he claws at the bars of his cage. I think if I love him, I must let him go to be happy in yonder old tree. So I open the window, then open the cage and he looks at me quizzically. No longer my pet, but I think he's my friend, he flies off toward the moon, finally free. Written in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on 11/11/22.
the raven's eye 
3:00 a.m. is a big hour. Crows must enjoy their freedom then
well done! Smooth inclusions. Salute.
Like my cat (also black). But she will just stand in the door. Like there’s some step missing in the ritual.
I like this story you wove from the words. Reads smoothly
Some nights I think the moon is full of those crows.