Being an adventurous sort, I have many days when I desire a little excitement outside of the mothering-teenagers variety. My wish came true last Sunday morning.
I try to be out of bed before everyone else because it’s important that I have some quiet time to gather my thoughts and goals for the day before semi-organized chaos ensues.
I was doing just that while catching up on some reading and enjoying a cup of hot tea in what’s referred to at The Whatley Estate as the computer room, which abuts the backyard. (More refined folks would call the room a “study”, thus my use of “abut”. My persona is carefully balanced between down-home and pretentious.)
Lost in what I was reading, the subconscious parts of my brain began alerting me to trouble. Coming to, I realized there was an awful racket coming from the backyard. Then I remembered Shadow the cat (aka “Killer”) was outside. The squawking and screeching of what sounded like an entire flock of birds prompted me to my feet.
Glancing through a window before flinging the door open, I saw a wild menagerie. The violence so intense that I threw reason aside before running full bore into the scene . . . in my nightgown and completely unarmed save for a loud voice. (I had been reading a fascinating book by FBI special agent, Joe Navarro, discussing how to override the limbic system and go against the body’s natural ability to flee danger. I soldiered in. No doubt he would’ve been proud.)
Shadow was hunkered down, apparently on top of prey and was being attacked from above by a pack of Blue Jays. Deduction told me he’d caught a bird and that the family had swooped down to take revenge.
“Shadow! Come here!”
He minds far better than my children, and because I think he appreciated the back-up, Shadow quickly gathered his catch and bolted towards me – with a SQUIRREL, who didn’t appear to be doing so well, flailing under the pressure of his jaw!
I love squirrels and have since hand-feeding them as a child with my Pawpaw on his porch to the east in Nederland, Texas. It was a sad day when I removed the corn feeders from my trees months ago. But I’d taken in a killer (this wasn’t Shadow’s first squirrel rodeo) and felt it was cruel to entice my furry little friends to their demise.
“Shadow! Put that down!”
The wounded was dropped and it scurried into some high, decorative grass close-by and collapsed.
I know Shadow was doing what cats instinctively do. And I did what I instinctively do when a young male in my house perturbs me: He was read the riot act.
Oh well, it was a good training exercise. I have a few wild males around here to tame. Thinking I should take a cue from the Blue Jays – swoop down, peck some sense, and make them believe I’ll take an eye out if necessary. They meant business!
Can a cat be trained to override his limbic system? I may need some back-up.
© 2010 Natalie Whatley