Creatures great & small

As highlighted with RobinWatch some weeks ago, I’ve been cultivating a little bit of birdtopia in the garden. A kind Ella Fitzgeraldesque tribute to Birdland.

My little feathered friends may eat around £3 of food a fortnight, but they do cheer me up so it’s money well spent. In the words of Daniels and Albarn, ‘It gives me a sense of enormous wellbeing’. There’s a couple of cheerful and tame robins, some bluetits, a blackbird couple, a chaffinch or two, and all get along in perfect harmony, sharing the birdfeeders and tables. It’s calming to look out and watch them fluttering around in a hectic way. It’s like a little-winged society. Like every society, however, there’s a growing underclass.

First there were the pigeons. Now, in Cardiff these and sparrows were about all there were to feed, but in the countryside they do have a certain city griminess about them. They’re like nightclub bouncers with their white-striped necks like cheap bow-ties, shoving the smaller birds out of the way. They litter and pollute the garden with mess and rubbish picked up elsewhere.

But this isn’t all, there’s also criminal elements at work. I’d like to have another reason, but I can’t help noticing that since the birds moved in there’s been a lot of cats about. Largely they’re in the grassy area by the stream, lurking in the long grass. If the birds want to go into the dangers of the undergrowth, then they will know to be wary of thugs. Better to stay in the safety of my garden if you ask me.

Except one particular, dark-furred feline has taken upon itself to become the mafia don of our garden. Hanging around in the shadows of the top corner of the garden, or otherwise perching on the end of the low fence waiting to pounce on unsuspecting flyers coming into the garden, is Don Cationi merrily ordering ‘hits’ on Robin and blackbird. He has a public face, all sweet and innocent, but in the dark world of the garden society his is a life run by murder, GBH and fast thrills.

But here’s the real problem. I’m a cat person. I’ve always been a cat person and grew up with one of my own. This particular cat has been welcomed into the house (sorry Sarah!) in a friendly manner. But that was before the birds came to town. Now my once calming and uplifting garden-watching is striken by turmoil – is it worse to frighten the furry away with a water spray and have it confused as to why I suddenly turned on it, or will it be worse to see a feathered friend killed or seriously injured in some underworld ‘hit’ by Don Cationi?