Ahh…cats. A writer’s best friend. Splendid traits aside, it’s always best to remember that cats are, at the end of the day, predators capable of wicked things indeed. I live in the woods; I have three cats that are prodigious hunters and one that can climb thirty feet into a tree without catching a breath. There is nothing romantic about this, even to a seasoned cat lady. I’ll spare you the horror stories.
This spring, a robin built a nest in a beech tree by the house. It’s a beautiful thing. From the windows we can hear the chicks twittering and rustling around in the nest. As they’re being fed, they make a lovely, hopeful sound rich with the sort of high-pitched frequencies to which cats are particularly sensitive. In this picture you can see one of the chicks at the top of the nest. It was difficult to get a good shot without doing something obnoxious involving a ladder. I didn’t go there. The adult robins yelled at me from the trees as it was.Needless to say, these little beggars were in serious danger (again, speaking from experience, here) so we had to do something. An old tomato cage and a wire cutter did the trick. I have affectionately dubbed this the “Cat Thwarter.” (Yes I made that word up but it works: something that thwarts.) Here it is, with my cat Hemlock lurking in flagrante delicto nearby.
So far so good. Cats. Wicked creatures.
© F.T. McKinstry 2014. All Rights Reserved.