Baby-bird karma.

The barn swallows outside aren't happy, and I don't blame them. In the past four days, they have lost two of their baby birds to our cats. Needless to say, the baby-bird karma floating in the air outside isn't going to be on the positive side.

A few days ago, I found a fully feathered baby bird out on the grass. With all the grass here, it was a small miracle in itself that I happened to see it, but there it was, with its two tiny feet pointing towards the clouds. Dead, without a doubt. I put it into the trash can and when I walked up to the porch I saw two bird feathers in Mickey Kitty's food dish. Oh my. Guilty party found. Since he was a tiny kitten, Mickey has been leaving his toys in his food dishes when they're empty. Never the water bowl, always the food dish. And there were those tiny feathers, stuck to teeny bits of Fancy Feast that had coagulated in the corners of the dish. It made me sad that Mickey had "graduated" from butterflies to baby birds.

This afternoon, the two adult barn swallows from the back porch nest were screeching and yelling and flying over the low bushes at the back of the garage. When I went to have a look-see, there was Sweet Pea, deep in those bushes, jumping from one bush to the other like a rabbit, his eyes never once looking up at me. Very faintly, I could hear the peep-peep-peep of the baby bird. I couldn't reach Sweet Pea, and even if I could have, I wouldn't have put my hands into those bushes, for fear of hidden snakes and scorpions and lizards. I tried to get Sweet Pea away with the broom, but he just jumped over it, his eyes on the birdie-prize. Then I went into the house and came out with a can of Fancy Feast, opening the can inches away from the bushes where Sweet Pea was hunting-- not even the familiar sound of the pop-top disturbed that cat's mission.

By that time, the two adult birds were sitting on the blades of the ceiling fan of the side porch... watching Sweet Pea, watching me, not a peep out of either one of them. At the sound of the pop-top on the can of Fancy Feast, both Gatsby and Mickey Kitty came out from their hiding places and were sitting by the back door. Is it dinner-time already? My, my, my... how the day does fly.... just like a baby bird.

Sweet Pea eventually came out from underneath the bushes, without a bird or its feathers in his teeth. I don't know what happened to the little bird, but I'm sure he didn't eat it because he was too hungry after his little adventure. And, sorry to say, I'm not going to be searching for it in those bushes.

I could, of course, keep the cats inside till after the baby birds have left their nests. But then I'd be having major problems with the cats who are now used to going outside every day, rain or shine. (Precious little rain these days, but that's another story.) Plus, with all the bird houses on this property, all occupied by birds in various stages of egg-laying, egg-hatching, fledgling-feeding, and first fledgling-flights, the cats would be in the house for the rest of the summer.

And I, for one, am getting very comfortable with not having to clean litter boxes all day long, not breaking up a cat-fight because Sweet Pea is napping on Mickey's favorite chair, or because Mickey wants to play with the one toy that Gatsby happens to be interested in on that particular day.

My apologies to the barn swallows and the wrens. My apologies to the sparrows and the cardinals, the bluebirds and the purple martins. Apologies go out to all the baby birds who are learning to fly on our twenty-three acres. My advice to all of the adult birds--- please don't build your nests on top of the porch columns. I have three cats who will try to capture your babies as soon as their tiny wings hit the air for the very first time.

Baby-bird karma. As I said, it is not going to be good.