Feathered Conspiracy

I am starting to suspect a conspiracy against my boy. It began with the wagtail. Normally, I like the wagtail, but it leads my boy astray and into the path of moving cars. Why is it always there, temptingly on the other side of the street, when I let him out on the morning? Could it be a trap? Do the crows from their high nests watch for the moment when I put his collar on and reach for the keys? Has there been a tweeting from the time the shutters are folded back; a synchronising of feathers; birds taking up positions oh so casually to funnel him into danger; blackbirds on high branches; pigeons perilously close to the main road; the wagtail diagonally across from the front door by the blind corner.
So I shepherd him into the garden, and hope he stays there and that the birds roll up their plans and fly out of his reach in safer environment.


Armchair Ornithologist

After hitting the window with a resounding smack, presumably in pursuit of a bird in the garden, Not Cat confined himself to a more sedate interest in ornithology.

He nabbed Mother’s chair as the one with the best view of the garden, and settled down.

She was, and is, still in hospital, and I’ll doubtless write about that soon, though I find the whole business extremely disquieting, so she wasn’t displaced by him.

It’ll be interesting to see if they tussle for territory when (and I sincerely hope it is when and not if) she gets home.