When the cat’s away…

My mother's been counting birds, she tells me. There was an RSPB survey the other week that involved her tallying the number of visitors seen in an hour. Rather like Neighbourhood Watch but without hiding behind a curtain. Perhaps that’s why some people call it ‘twitching’. Anyway, she ended up monitoring the garden for two hours and then struggled to decide which hour to submit. One had more variety - woodpecker, blackcap, assorted finches - but the other was a larger total. Eventually it was quantity that won, disproving the idea that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

I mention this because until recently I'd not seen many birds in our Ringmer garden. Sure, we have jackdaws on our chimney pot and seagulls circling overhead. I've even spotted a heron on the village pond. But feathery visitors have been few and far between, mainly because of our two cats.

When I say "our" I don't mean mine. I have no cats. In fact, I've heard suggestions that no-one really owns cats; it's cats that own people. Semantics aside, the cats were already living with my wife when we first met, so they're definitely not mine. (Except when they need feeding or a trip to the vet, of course). Anyway, I reckon they’re slowing down. It's the weather, I'm sure. Outside is cold, indoors is warm... and because I spend much of my time working from home, the cats now spend much of their time in the lounge. The sofa is rarely cat-free except when I plug the sofa-cleaning attachment into the vacuum cleaner. But there is an upside. These days I'm noticing more bird life in our garden. Whilst our neighbours have spent many years encouraging feathered friends onto a gazebo that's guarded by a small terrier, we've been more worried than joyful whenever a robin lands.

However, in the last week or so there’s been considerably less cat activity in the garden and more cat inactivity indoors. I’ve even taken to regularly gazing out of the window to watch an occasional blackbird hop across the lawn. Such joy.

At least, there was joy until an unfortunate incident the other day. A thrush landed on the garden path. I looked around; both cats asleep. Lovely. All’s well with the world. The thrush hops down the path, showing off its speckled waistcoat without a care. And then it spots a slug. It stabs the poor slug with its beak and pounds it against the ground again and again. I can’t bear this. Surely it’s time to send the cats out.

First published on vivalewes.com 8th February 2013: http://vivalewes.com/