The Stray Lamb by Thorne Smith

MR LAMB had been a seagull for several days, and had become a thoroughly experienced flyer. Since his defeat of the cat he had steadfastly refused to return home. He was going to be a seagull up or down to the last detail, but in doing so he was becoming an extremely hungry bird, not being able to accommodate his appetite to raw fish and the cast-off bounty of ocean liners. Once he had brought himself to nibble at a fair-looking piece of grape-fruit sliding along the waves, but had swallowed so much salt water in the attempt that he had been forced to abandon the object of his desire.

To-day he had been feeling rather light-headed as he swooped and circled over lower Manhattan. His sharp eyes looked down into the dark cañons of stone pierced by many windows. He thought about the office buildings. He considered them from a new point of view. Hitherto he had looked on them as outstanding examples of American industry and progress. To have things to do with them had always given him a feeling of accomplishment--a comfortable sense of regimentation. To-day he was not so sure.