I was musing over the remnants of my supper when an avian commotion erupted on the back porch railing. Interspecies issues involving birds are always playing out on that porch — there was the Great Nest Defense Of The Cardinals last spring:
And there was the red-tailed hawk that sent my cats into a horripilating frenzy.
This time it was the sparrow couple that have nested in my gutter (I’m a softie; I let them) for the last three summers, followed by Fearless Robin, who seems to be starting this year’s family in the bush by the porch, and who will get practically in beak-tweaking distance of me when I’m weeding (yummy worms), but on this occasion suddenly evacuated the shrubbery in a great flurry of wings, right after the sparrows finished a shrieking chorus by dispersing to all points of the compass.
It could only mean one thing. Torvald was back.
Since this little grey cat’s last meander through my yard I’ve determined that he belongs to a Hispanic family down the street — the kind of people who can’t imagine spending money on neutering or vaccinating a cat, alas — and I’d steal him (I baldly confess it) if a little girl weren’t clearly his main person. Failing that, I rejoice in feeding and making much of him when he appears.
If you click twice on the picture to biggify it, the robin is visible at a peak of the fence close to the upper left corner, telegraphing fear of the Big Terrible Predator. Torvald is just hanging out, hoping for a chat with my guys.
I gave him the specialite de la maison, turkey pate. I may be a vegetarian but I respect the needs of obligate carnivores.