Nature is peculiar…as we all know. This morning I was having tea and I heard something rattling at the storm door. I looked out but didn’t see anything. About half an hour later I headed out to put halved oranges up for the orioles (they are back and they are beautiful!) and to fill the bird feeders when I came within millimeters of stepping on a small tangier which had apparently flown into the door glass.
It was alive and I picked it up. Of course its tiny heart was being a mile a minute, but it didn’t have any obvious injuries.
There is a small covered feeder, designed to look like a miniature rural mailbox, and I put the dazed critter in there for safe keeping. I figured when it felt up to it, it could fly away at its leisure.
Now, we have an outdoor cat named Goody-Goody…I rescued her from her former home in a storm drain in front of my studio. We’d taken her out for a wholesome life in the country, got her the necessary inoculations, had her neutered etc. and she’s been a lovely addition to the old ranch. To pay us back she has been a killing machine, virtually every day she comes strutting up with a field rat, mole, mouse, shrew, and the like.
So, Goody had come round to see what I was up to and to see if that possibly included a snack for her. I had just turned away from the bird and was walking toward the house, where the cat was sitting. Suddenly the bird decided that it felt much better and it took off, woozily, flying erratically over my shoulder, then lower to the ground, right back toward the door where it had originally nearly knocked its own brains out.
(Allow me to digress: some macho type guys think that the coolest pet they can own, to reflect their own strength and manliness, is a big dog, a Rottweiler or pit-bull or the such, because they’re “tough”. In reality the lowly house cat is one of nature’s wonders of strength and agility and they are the masters of mayhem as well.)
Goody-Goody, sitting relaxed and calm, instantly shot skyward like a coiled spring and, before I realized it, had snatched the bird from thin air. The speed reminded me of a snake striking and her aim was nothing short of astonishing.
She clasped the bird it in her front paws, came back to earth, and immediately clamped her jaws down on the poor creature. I wanted to yell out for her to “drop it” but knew that it would only frighten her into running off. Instead I approached her slowly saying, “Great catch, Goody!”
She eyed me guardedly and crept away, near to the ground, but, because up to this point at least I’ve always been good to her, she eventually stopped and let me approach her. I knelt down and pried her jaws open with my thumb. I took the bird, dripping wet with cat spit but with no visible wounds, and laid it up on top of our propane tank which has a little protective wall around the controls and is completely engulfed in blooming honeysuckle vines. The cat did not see where I stashed the bird.
I walked away, talking to kitty in comforting tones, keeping an eye on the frightened bird. After a few minutes the cat wandered off to the spot where she’d so suddenly lost her catch, perhaps to see if she had somehow simply misplaced it. I strolled over to where I’d left the bird on the tank and, upon sight of me, it flapped its wings awkwardly then suddenly took off like the Red Baron for a tree 50 feet away, apparently fully recovered and none the worse for wear.
I had to put up with taciturn stares from the cat for the rest of the morning, her very look vowing revenge and chaos, but all-in-all it turned into a lucky day for everyone else involved.
Unless I am diagnosed with avian flu later in the month.