I was armed with a $20 water gun, that was advertised to be able to shoot a stream of water 70 feet.  My shots always missed the mark, but they  succeeded in scaring the cat birds away.  "Good; serves you right!" I declared, "that's some of your own medicine."  I brought my front porch chair to the back yard, where they spent most of their time, and resolved to spend as many hours as were needed to harass them back, until they decided to move to some unlucky neighbor's property.  I had to nip this in the bud, for I didn't want the rest of my days upset by the intruding sounds of these irritating birds.

Once, I thought I was succeeding.  Whenever I issued a "warning shot," which I learned I could embellish by allowing some air to enter the front of the gun, the cat birds would fly to trees two houses to the south.  But they kept coming back.  "Stubborn birds!"  After I shooed them away from the back, sometimes they'd go to the front of the house.  Back and forth I walked, trying to anticipate where they would stubbornly reappear.  Sure hope the neighbors didn't think I was crazy, walking back and forth, and looking up at birds that apparently didn't annoy them.  If only it was legal to fire a BB gun, I could simply shoot each of the cat birds  when they were positioned for a safe shot.  Just another example of the handicapping down-sides to city living.

I noticed something in one bird's beak, and the thought of them building a nest on my property only heightened my resolve to harass them until they left, permanently.  A thought occurred to me, that maybe I should study their habits, like a naturalist, and thereby become armed with knowledge that could help me wage war more successfully.  This is what my friend Al would do.  When a crow lighted upon the top of the utility pole, I studied the cat birds harass them; they flew past the crow in one direction, sat on the line a couple feet away, then flew past them in the other direction, sitting again a couple feet away.  Each time they passed the crow they would swoop as if to peck the hapless crow.  The crow must have weighed 5 times as much as the cat bird, yet maneuverability gave victory to the smaller cat bird.  The crow always gave up defending itself, and flew away.

"Fitting!" I declared to myself, recalling how the crows were the bullies of the bird world in our neighborhood.   I remembered seeing a crow attack a smaller bird and eat it alive, last year.  But I was too impatient to get the cat birds off my property, and rather than study their habits patiently I would even interrupt their harassment of the crows by trying to make sounds with my water gun to intimidate them away.

I remembered that I had forgotten to feed Fluffy, so I went into the house to get her food.  I placed Fluffy's food dish within sight of my war headquarters, and resumed my cat bird watch.  The darned birds came down to buzz Fluffy, while she was eating.  While I stood over Fluffy to guard her from the harassing dive bombing birds, I wondered what Fluffy had done to deserve this!  She's not like the crows, I told myself.  Well, maybe just a little, as I recalled innocent Fluffy trotting proudly on a few occasions with a live bird in her mouth.  Maybe that's why cat birds hate cats, and harass them.

I was especially unnerved when the cat birds perch atop the neighbor's antenna.  I can't shoot at them if the water would end up going off my property, and it seemed like the birds knew this.  All I could do is intimidate them with the sound of water shooting out at my nearby lemon tree, on my property.  This would always send the birds flying off to the tree south of my neighbor's property.

My poor lemon tree.  At least it was getting watered.  In past years, when it had been dry, this would have been good.  But this year we had good winter rains and the lemon tree was green and full.  It had a good crop of lemons, all green so far.  I looked forward to the day they would start ripening, so I could add freshly squeezed lemon juice to my after-work rum and coke.  I walked over to the lemon tree to see when it might start bearing the desired fruit.  While I was standing underneath, I thought I heard a small chirp.

How could that be?  The cat birds were two properties away.  I kept still, and heard another weak chirp from straight above me.  What!  Could there be a nest there, of cat bird babies?  The foliage was so dense that I had to look from several angles, but then I saw it.  A nest!

Suddenly, everything fell into place!   With images flashing though my mind:  the cat eating baby birds; the crows carrying smaller birds off to the neighbor's roof to eat them alive there; the cat bird with what must have been food in her mouth!  The harassing made sense!  It was the cat birds defense for a cruel world where creatures eat other creatures, and harassment is an option for smaller, gutsy creatures to survive.  This gave me a new understanding and respect for the cat birds.

I struggled with a part of me that wanted so much to be rid of the annoying, raspy sounds, and the dive bombing nuisance.  This part of me, which had focused so much hate, lately, was saying "destroy the nest!" but a new part of me was saying "protect the nest!"  I got my stepladder, placed it under the lemon tree, and climbed to just below the nest.  I used a stick to clear the branches, and noted the parent cat birds hovering nervously nearby.  I knew that if I were to trim the branches from above the nest, it would be exposed in a way that the crows might target the baby birds.  And this might free my property of the pesty birds.  But I also knew that I couldn't do this, for I had a new perspective, based on a new understanding of them.

The understanding part of me realized that the cat calls and harassing would cease once the baby birds were successfully fledged.  This wasn't, therefore, a matter of two cat birds settling on my property to begin a permanent harassment.  There was  purpose for their behavior.  A necessity!  How refined is evolution that it would create such intricate behaviors so suited to survival.

I emptied my water gun, and put it away.  I decommissioned my war headquarters, by moving my chair back to the front porch.  And I went into the house to make a cup of coffee.  And came back outside to hear the cat bird sounds with new ears.

As I write this, my heart is filled with a new love for nature.  Outside my open window is a lemon tree.  And in this lemon tree a miracle is unfolding, for there are two fledgling cat birds, now out of their nest and sitting on a branch, making chirp and cheep sounds.  They chirp in answer to a chirping parent in the distance.  Soon the parent arrives with food, and feeds one or the other babies holding onto a branch unsteadily.  Occasionally a parent will fly to the ground and make a raspy warning, presumably, to condition Fluffy to stay out of the area, in anticipation of the time a fledgling may fall from the tree while it is learning how to fly.  I've just put Fluffy in the garage, as I sense that flying lessons will soon begin.

The small-throated chirps are remarkably similar to their parent's chirps.  The baby cheeps, however, are sweeter.  I assume they will develop into the raspy sound, which they will use to protect their fledglings, someday.  Just as both parents use their raspy warning cries to ward off potential enemies, both parents bring food to the nest.  This is something humans can identify with.

As I sit here, looking up through my window, with up-welling eyes, into a lemon tree, I know that I am watching one of nature's miracles that has been taking place since life began; yet I am appreciating it as if it were the first time.  I've had this feeling before, this emotionally profound awe with the beginning of life.  It was when each of my daughters was born.  It is fitting that we the living should be fascinated with the beginnings of life.

I feel a connection with the cat birds that is profoundly different from the connection I had with them one day ago.  Whereas I had been filled with anger, and a desire to shoo them away, or even to kill them, today I am filled with an empathy based on understanding, and kinship.  We are both a part of life, and go about our business of recreating our own kind in ways that evolution has provided for.  We are part of an immense web of interconnected life inhabiting this battered planet.

A fleeting thought catches my attention, that just as I have become more "understanding" and tolerant of a cat bird after learning that it's behavior is driven by special needs, and that these needs can best be seen by taking the time to empathically place oneself in the cat bird's position, it might also be useful for me to sometimes place myself in another person's position, to see the world from their perspective, so that I may be more understanding and tolerant of people who I might normally be too quick to make judgements about.

I have seen and felt Nature the way it was meant to be experienced, and I have learned.  Today I am a wiser, and happier man.
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This site opened:  October 30, 1998.   Last Update: October 30, 1998