vendredi 25 juin 2010

Nature: Further lessons in futility

Wisp in my straw bag

Cute, isn't she? That's what I thought I'd write about when my son found her in my bag and suggested I get my camera. Sweet, adorable, cute kitty cat.

Predator, prowler, huntress cat is more accurate. I know this. I know that I can't fight against it. Invite a cat into your home and garden -- or don't, you don't have to; they show up in the garden anyway --, and there are other animals that don't stand a chance, like birds. Birds just like the one I saved yesterday, carrying it home in my sweaty hand, half-rolled into the bottom of my t-shirt on the last kilometer of my run.

It might have been the first bird ever to go on a one kilometer jog.

I was returning to the house from down at the barbecue to wash up while the coals whiten, when I saw Wisp, crouched in the lawn by the fish and frog "pond" in that horrible, tell-tale position that says, "I am protecting my prey" or "I am consuming it right this very moment". She looked up at the dogs and I as we crossed the brief expanse of lawn and licked her maw as she watched us approach, then she got up and retreated to the front steps, leaving a stone colored object in the grass. I approached and bent my head to get a better look; it was a bird just like the one I saved yesterday, only its head was missing and the muscles of its legs were exposed, entrails inviting Baccarat for a little snack.

"I don't mind if I do, thank you very much, Wisp," said she.

"Don't count on my welcome," replied Wisp, "for you have ruined my supper," and the bird, in one bite, was done.

Baccarat gazed at me across the lawn, "Have I," she asked, "perhaps done something wrong?"

"You'll both," I menaced, pruning shears in hand, "soon be long gone, if we ask Audouin."

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