Birds versus cat: a real battle and lots of questions

Can you think of a single reason why a cat with the sweet disposition of an angel and two mockingbirds that give breathtaking concerts every day should be such mortal enemies?

Neither can I.

You might suppose it's part of the genetic makeup of both the cat and the birds.

You might suppose the birds and the cat, at some point, established some sort of rivalry after some life-threatening clash.

You might suppose the notion that cats like to eat birds has something to do with this intense feud, but I wouldn't be so sure. The know-it-all cat that lives with us, Missy Kitty, says cats have little interest in mockingbirds as meals, because the singing birds are tough and stringy. I dare not press for more details.

You can suppose all you want, but the battles between feline and fowl defy easy explanation.

The other birds that swarm around our backyard feeders aren't particularly fond of the cat, but they tend to deal with her presence by ignoring her. No big deal, really.

The pair of mockingbirds, however, is another story entirely.

My wife or I can go out the front door of our house and not see any sign of a mockingbird, although we know they nest somewhere nearby. Maybe in the large holly bush next to the garage. Or maybe in the willow-leaf oak tree in the front yard. Despite our best efforts, we cannot locate the mockingbirds' nest.

Missy Kitty, if she knows where the nest is, doesn't seem to pay much attention to it one way or the other. But if Missy Kitty steps out the front door onto the sidewalk, the two mockingbirds appear almost instantly. They start screeching, not singing. They dive-bomb the cat, which makes no effort to retaliate even with the birds managing to grab a tuft of her fur.

This display of bird bombers versus cat nonchalance is amazing to watch, even though we wonder why the birds persist for so long when it is clear Missy Kitty is not interested in gobbling up baby mockingbirds.

As a matter of fact, Missy Kitty taunts the birds on occasion, spreading out on the sidewalk and exposing her furry tummy to the avian attackers. To her, all of this appears to be a game. To the birds, it appears to be a life-or-death struggle.

Not to attach too much anthropomorphism to this bird-cat warfare, but there seem to be some parallels to the way we humans behave.

We humans tend to have crazy notions, for example, concerning other humans who are different than we are: different skin color, different clothing, different languages, different personal hygiene, different religions and so forth.

How do we form these notions? Maybe this is something we have in common with animals. One of the ways we become wary of others is because our parents brought us up to notice our differences more than our human bonds. Maybe mockingbird parents, through their hyperactivity around cats, teach their offspring to fear furry animals just because they are furry. As a result, mockingbirds see every cat as a mortal enemy even when a cat clearly has no interest in fighting.

Does this sound familiar to any of us humans?

By the way, it appears to me that mockingbirds don't pester cats just because the birds are mean. I see the birds' behavior as the action of attentive parents who want to protect themselves, of course, but, more importantly, want to keep their babies safe. Most animal mothers I know, including the ones who brought us up and taught us to think the way we do, would do the same thing.

Meanwhile, if you want to see the way the mockingbirds carry on around cats, come on over. Don't wait too long. Missy Kitty puts up with the bird bombers for about 30 minutes before she crawls under one of the shrubs where the mockingbirds can't see her. That's when peace, tranquility and harmony resume.

Maybe there's another lesson for humans there, too.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.