My cat, Lucy, sometimes does not think of herself as a cat. She seems to feel that she should be afforded all rights and privileges of regular human beings. I've tried to explain to her that she is, indeed, a cat. I am just not getting through to her.
A few days ago, I noticed that I could hear a bird chirping very loudly in my house. Strange, I thought, that I can actually hear chirping and the beating of bird wings. I finally figured out that the sounds were coming from inside my chimney. That was sort of a relief because I did not want to try to hunt down a bird or birds inside my house.
Obviously, the chirping and feather rustling came the attention of my bird-eating cat. Yes, I frequently find bird feathers and sometimes little bird feet on my front porch. Ick. (I also wonder every time I see the pitiful remains, where is the rest of the bird? Does she eat the head, beak, etc.? I can't imagine trying to choke that down.) So, I opened my fireplace doors and poked my head in. Not too far, since I have a baseless fear of something/someone attacking me from my own chimney. My brain hasn't quite worked out how this attack might happen, but it knows it will. I hear the birds chirping, rustling, and almost sounding as if they are in distress. I'm not sure what to do at this point. I don't want to get on the roof. I can't crawl up the chimney. The chirping is LOUD! I did notice, however, that when I opened the fireplace doors, the chirping stopped for a little while. Ah, the easy solution. Make some noise every now and then to keep the birds from chirping. I can do this. So, all day I open and close the fireplace doors. The birds chirp a little, but nothing like before. I go to bed. No chirping. I can rest.
At 6:45, I hear loud, frantic, terrified chirping. It's bad. I think, oh my, did one of the birds fall down the chimney? Sleep prevents me from checking on the birds. In just a minute, my cat races into my bedroom and jumps on the bed. It's sort of light in my room, and I see she has something in her mouth. That's right. She has climbed up the chimney, gotten a baby bird, and brought it to me in bed. How sweet. How thoughtful. If only I felt the same way. I scream and jump out of bed. Lucy drops the bird on my dry-clean only comforter. The bird is not dead. It begins to cry out and flop around on my bed. Lucy grabs the bird again. I yell for her to drop it. I run for a towel to rescue the bird. Lucy grabs the bird again. All of us are yelling at this point. Lucy drops the bird, I make a grab for it. The bird is still flopping around, and I notice that it is bleeding. Yes, bleeding on my dry-clean only comforter. My anger mounts. Finally, the bird is safely in the towel. I go outside and put it in my hanging basket closest to the part of the house where the chimney is. Crisis over? No. I come back in the house to find my cat already in the fireplace going back for her second bird. She is nothing if not persistent. I yell, "Get out of there you stupid cat!" She whips around and stares at me as if to say, "What? I'm a cat, this is what we do." I grabbed her out of the fireplace and quickly shut the doors. Of course, Lucy believing she is actually human, takes great offense to this and runs back into my room. She proceeds to walk over my clean clothes that were on my bed with her sooty feet. What a way to start a morning. I couldn't have been more awake than if you had thrown a bucket of cold water on me.
Being so awake I could solve world hunger, I eat breakfast. Oatmeal and tea, yum. Lucy keeps stalking the fireplace, peering in the doors and cocking her head to listen for chirping. The birds have wisely shut up. I feed the dogs, who were already outside when this drama began. Everyone is happy except the cat. She has begun meowing at the fireplace. This goes on all day. I can't bear to look at my bed and see the feathers and blood. Finally, I have to clean it up. I thought about getting my comforter cleaned. Then, I got out the OxyClean. Amazingly, it worked. All of the blood came out. I dustbusted the feathers, washed the sheets, and washed the clean clothes on the bed. I could forget the whole thing happened if only my cat would stop looking
into the fireplace several times a day to check for birds.
She hasnt' given up. She knows the birds are there. I haven't heard them, and I'm not checking. Every now and then she will go to the fireplace, look at me, and meow. A meow that says, "Please, I beg you, let me go. I will only take one bird. I promise. I just want to check. It will only take a minute." How do I know that is what her meow is saying? She meows all the time and has basically trained me to meet her every need, desire, and whim. I never thought a cat would have this much control over me. How did this happen? Am I the one to blame? The dogs don't act like this.
In conclusion, I hope the birds have learned their lesson. My house and yard are not safe. I will not always be around to save them. Build your nests somewhere else. Please, I beg you.
A few days ago, I noticed that I could hear a bird chirping very loudly in my house. Strange, I thought, that I can actually hear chirping and the beating of bird wings. I finally figured out that the sounds were coming from inside my chimney. That was sort of a relief because I did not want to try to hunt down a bird or birds inside my house.
Obviously, the chirping and feather rustling came the attention of my bird-eating cat. Yes, I frequently find bird feathers and sometimes little bird feet on my front porch. Ick. (I also wonder every time I see the pitiful remains, where is the rest of the bird? Does she eat the head, beak, etc.? I can't imagine trying to choke that down.) So, I opened my fireplace doors and poked my head in. Not too far, since I have a baseless fear of something/someone attacking me from my own chimney. My brain hasn't quite worked out how this attack might happen, but it knows it will. I hear the birds chirping, rustling, and almost sounding as if they are in distress. I'm not sure what to do at this point. I don't want to get on the roof. I can't crawl up the chimney. The chirping is LOUD! I did notice, however, that when I opened the fireplace doors, the chirping stopped for a little while. Ah, the easy solution. Make some noise every now and then to keep the birds from chirping. I can do this. So, all day I open and close the fireplace doors. The birds chirp a little, but nothing like before. I go to bed. No chirping. I can rest.
At 6:45, I hear loud, frantic, terrified chirping. It's bad. I think, oh my, did one of the birds fall down the chimney? Sleep prevents me from checking on the birds. In just a minute, my cat races into my bedroom and jumps on the bed. It's sort of light in my room, and I see she has something in her mouth. That's right. She has climbed up the chimney, gotten a baby bird, and brought it to me in bed. How sweet. How thoughtful. If only I felt the same way. I scream and jump out of bed. Lucy drops the bird on my dry-clean only comforter. The bird is not dead. It begins to cry out and flop around on my bed. Lucy grabs the bird again. I yell for her to drop it. I run for a towel to rescue the bird. Lucy grabs the bird again. All of us are yelling at this point. Lucy drops the bird, I make a grab for it. The bird is still flopping around, and I notice that it is bleeding. Yes, bleeding on my dry-clean only comforter. My anger mounts. Finally, the bird is safely in the towel. I go outside and put it in my hanging basket closest to the part of the house where the chimney is. Crisis over? No. I come back in the house to find my cat already in the fireplace going back for her second bird. She is nothing if not persistent. I yell, "Get out of there you stupid cat!" She whips around and stares at me as if to say, "What? I'm a cat, this is what we do." I grabbed her out of the fireplace and quickly shut the doors. Of course, Lucy believing she is actually human, takes great offense to this and runs back into my room. She proceeds to walk over my clean clothes that were on my bed with her sooty feet. What a way to start a morning. I couldn't have been more awake than if you had thrown a bucket of cold water on me.
Being so awake I could solve world hunger, I eat breakfast. Oatmeal and tea, yum. Lucy keeps stalking the fireplace, peering in the doors and cocking her head to listen for chirping. The birds have wisely shut up. I feed the dogs, who were already outside when this drama began. Everyone is happy except the cat. She has begun meowing at the fireplace. This goes on all day. I can't bear to look at my bed and see the feathers and blood. Finally, I have to clean it up. I thought about getting my comforter cleaned. Then, I got out the OxyClean. Amazingly, it worked. All of the blood came out. I dustbusted the feathers, washed the sheets, and washed the clean clothes on the bed. I could forget the whole thing happened if only my cat would stop looking
into the fireplace several times a day to check for birds.She hasnt' given up. She knows the birds are there. I haven't heard them, and I'm not checking. Every now and then she will go to the fireplace, look at me, and meow. A meow that says, "Please, I beg you, let me go. I will only take one bird. I promise. I just want to check. It will only take a minute." How do I know that is what her meow is saying? She meows all the time and has basically trained me to meet her every need, desire, and whim. I never thought a cat would have this much control over me. How did this happen? Am I the one to blame? The dogs don't act like this.
In conclusion, I hope the birds have learned their lesson. My house and yard are not safe. I will not always be around to save them. Build your nests somewhere else. Please, I beg you.
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