Louise T. Guinther

The boys killed a bird today. I’m referring to the feline boys, the only male members of our household. They left their trophy in the driveway and then sat there beside it, furry chests puffed out, waiting to gaze at me proudly when I opened the side door to let them in.

I know I ought to praise them when they do these things. I know I should thank them for their generosity in sharing their prize and admire their hunting prowess. I’m sure it doesn’t make any sense to them when I wail, “How could you, you brutes?” or try to explain patiently that, much as we appreciate the homage, we actually prefer the birds singing in the trees or winging their way across the sky.

Maybe it’s wrong of us to have a birdbath—though as far as I know, no bird has ever been caught and killed in the process of having a drink in our backyard—but the birds need water, and they use our birdbath all the time. (We have a feeder too, but it’s pretty high off the ground, and anyway, the squirrels took it over years ago and are never willing to share with the birds, so it isn’t of much interest to the cats.) The boys wear collars with jingling bells, to give the birdies a fair chance, and we try hard to remember to bang the screen door loudly when we let the kitties out, as a warning to our avian friends.

People who love birds more than cats might argue that we could solve the problem by keeping the boys inside. But cats need their outdoor time: they go stir crazy without it, and once outside, the temptation of those lovely fluttery wings is simply too much for them. Given how much trouble it is for Boris just to jump up on my bed these days, you wouldn’t think he’d pose much of a threat, but it’s amazing what a little adrenaline rush can do, and I guess he feels obliged to keep up with his younger, more acrobatic brother.

It’s hard to do the right thing by everybody. The best I could do in this case was give the poor birdie a decent burial—I sang “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and wept a bit at the graveside—and then head back in to give the boys, now peaceably curled up on the rug, a congratulatory pat. After all, it is their nature.