Wednesday, April 25, 2007

War.

There is an ugly war being fought, life or death, a war of terror and brutality. An epic battle of good versus evil.
I try to stay neutral, to keep my mind balanced and fair. It is the nature of the beast I tell myself, war is ugly.
But I cannot. I'm rooting for the little guy. There, I freely confess it, I want to see the guy defending his patch win. They didn't ask for this hostility, they're just trying to 'be.'
But they have no choice. They must fight. This is a war in which one force, mighty, arrogant, ever watchful, are threatening to destroy everything they stand for.
So they have risen to the challenge. It will not be a case of roll over. Yes the invaders are massive, better equipped. but the smaller force is determined and dug in.
There have been skirmishes, field battles, snipers and open combat, and yet they-the aggressors- have not gained the upper hand. They fight and regroup, stunned to find that their might is of little use to them in the difficult conditions in which they must fight. But they persist, for they know they will win, they have superior strength on their side and they will brook no defeat. To lose now would be disaster, they would relinquish ground and in the end lose their hold over the zone.
But foolhardy warriors. They have underestimated their enemies' knowledge of the terrain, underestimated the kamikaze nature of the beast, the fight or die mentality.
The enemy will fight to the death, they will protect their loved ones at all cost, they will not be driven from their homes no matter if the crushing weight of the invaders comes to bears. It is win at all cost.
All I can do is watch with breath baited.
I just wish the fuckers would do it quietly.
'Shut up Birdies!' I yelled out my window this morning as the day's round of insults and chatterwoking started at the crack of dawn.'Shut the bloody hell up or I'll ruddy poison the lorraya!'

A mister and missus Blackbird have a nest in on of the dense bushes in my garden where they are raising a brood. The magpies- and they seem to be legion- are trying to find that nest and destroy it. But the blackbirds are some of the most ferocious brave fighters I've ever seen.
Yesterday I sat peering over the top of my computer at them, transfixed for almost twenty minutes as an aerial battle was fought before my very eyes.
A huge magpie had landed in the branches of the sycamore tree, close to the thick bush wherein lies the nest, when missus black bird spotted him and cried a warning. Within seconds an ear splitting 'skree skree skree skree' alarm started and BAM! mister blackbird exploded from the foliage and dive bombed the magpie, flying so close the bigger bird had no option but to drop back to the branch below, a smaller branch that did not support his weight and threw him slightly off balance. Before he had even a split second to settle, mister B had spun and dived him from the other side.
The magpie leaped to soar only to be cut off by a black blur. Pinwheeling, he crashed into the cherry tree with a whump, blossoms scattered across the evening air like snow flakes.
Then came missus B, screeching and beating her wings as though the hounds of hell were beneath her. She is slighter bigger the mister B, but still tiny compared to the magpie, but he is no match for her. She screeched once again and they commenced battle.
Enraged the magpie attacked, flying and turning, leaping from branch to branch but there are two of the little black spitfires and they work in tandem, the bigger bird tried to lure them higher up the branches where his wingspan and strength could come into play, but the blackbirds are clever, they drive him into the lighter tighter twiggier parts of the trees, twisting and turning swooping inches from his face, disorienting him and causing him to chatter with fury.
Finally the magpie broke free from the sticks and targeted Mister B. Mister B dropped a wing and headed for the evergreen flying at an incredible 90 degrees, I felt my heart pound as the magpie tilted to cut him off.
I need not have worried. Before the magpie has flapped twice Missus B came roaring up from holly bough and the black and white beast has no option but to wheel hard to the right. He skimmed the conifer branches and made a haphazard emergency landing.
He was given no time to regroup, Mister B, zoomed past him on an updraft and turning at the last minutes to drop down. He flew so close the wind of his glossy black feather caused another outraged chatter. The magpie gave chase, but in his rage he had been duped to dropping once again to the lower branches where his power weight and wingspan are more hinderance than help.
He was on their turf now, and the black choloitos knew it. With 'skree skrees' rising and speed on their side, they upped the stakes. The attacks were relentless , swooping and whizzing by again and again.
It was over.
With a flurry of wings and a thermal hitch-hike, the magpie rose and flapped to the roof of the house. He chattered and his chatter was answered by his kin. They did not come to his aid and I"m sure he probably thought they are all beak and no pants.
Underneath the holly I saw a black and white flash and I knew the bigger of the cats has been waiting on the sidelines, eager to see if any of the injured might need some 'clearing-up'
Tough shit cat, it was not your day.

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21 Comments:

Blogger Kieran said...

Intervene, with weapons. Go on!
Magpies steal, they deserve it.
I rescued a fly from a spider's web last week. I will go to heaven.

11:31 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Flies? They deserve their death, buzzing little twerps. There are two of them right now bouncing off my window and no sign of the one-eyed cat, who likes to eat them.
You just can't rely on cats to take care off stuff for you I find.

11:36 a.m.  
Blogger Kav said...

Seeing a cat eat an insect is one of life's simplest pleasures. It always makes me laugh.

12:04 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

I think the one-eyed one finds them a delicacy. He ws carrying a dying bumble bee around in His mouth the other day and you should how mental he goes over daddy longlegs. COMPLETELY MENTAL.

12:08 p.m.  
Blogger Kav said...

Ah the Daddy Long Legs (or Jenny Long Legs as Scots call them, teh feckin weirdos). Before we got rid of our cat, Homer*, we had summer evenings filled with delight watching him race around the house after the little blighters.

*long story

12:18 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Hold on there Kaverino, what happened to Homer?

12:21 p.m.  
Blogger Kav said...

We got him when we first moved in together in Ireland, back in 2000. because we lived in apartments, he was raised as an indoor cat. we moved to Scotland and he sat on my knee in our little Fiat Cuntagetinta the whole journey over. We had a grand oul time until the end of 2004, just after Erin was born. He totally freaked at being the displaced "baby" - having been used to 100% attention, he wasn't getting anywhere near as much as he used to. It wasn't fair on him, and we felt bad for hi. Equally, he started acting out, trying to mark his territory everywhere and raising his hackles at Erin whenever she was around. Eventually we decided it would be better for everyone if we gave him away.

You would not believe how many Indian restaurant owner phoned us up about him. Make of that what you will.

Linzi was very choosy about who took him, and we "interviewed" a few people before we eventually found a really nice childless couple who would be able to give him the attention he needed. He was a cool cat. I miss him, and I never used to like cats before we got him.

2:07 p.m.  
Blogger Kav said...

We felt bad for him. We felt bad for hi too, but I'm too sore about that to get into it.

2:08 p.m.  
Anonymous eva said...

Wow, never a dull moment there, eh? Well-written action piece!

But now I feel very sad about Homer, it brings back painful memories when I left my home country and was forced to give away my cats. Never again! Good to hear though that you were careful about choosing the right home for him.

3:06 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Hi Eva, yep my garden is a regular battlefield at the moment.

Sorry about poor Homer Kav, but you were right to find him a good home, no point in having a miserable cat and a risk to your child.

3:13 p.m.  
Blogger Kav said...

Thanks eva. Wasn't an easy decision to have to make. I tried to sell the child but Linzi was having none of it.

3:14 p.m.  
Blogger Kav said...

Cheers, FMC, exactly right.

3:14 p.m.  
Blogger Andraste said...

Rousing descriptions, Cat! Wildlife is great, innit? I got NO sleep Sunday night because there were SOME kind of CREATURES mating under our window. They weren't cats, and they certainly weren't dogs...the screeching was almost...demonic.

Raccoons, I'm told. Jaysis. If I never hear that again, it'll be too soon.

3:17 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Could be foxes darling, they always sound like they're screaming.

3:22 p.m.  
Anonymous eva said...

Spring is in the air, Andraste ;)

3:31 p.m.  
Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Raccoon love is wild! They're screamers. We used to have a loved up pair in our garden in MN - flippin' primal it was. Out here in CA we hear the coyotes more often. They howl and yelp all through the sex and they get stuck together for a bit afterwards which must hurt like hell, and probably makes for some awkward conversation.

There's an owl who sits outside our bedroom window at night trying to get lucky although whatever it is he's saying hasn't worked so far. He's got a fairly limited chat-up line repertoire of "Hoot" and "Hootwoo". If I were a lady owl I'd be looking for someone a bit more verbal to father my owlets, but you know, we're all different. Maybe that special someone is out there somewhere. He's not going to find her outside our bloody window though; he's hardly even trying. In which case he's a handsome jock-type owl who thinks he doesn't need to try, or a moron owl who dribbles down his feathers at the bar.

5:00 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

He's probabaly the stong silent type. Hope that works out for him.
The magpies all had a fight with each other earlier. I think the rowdy ones are bratty teenagers and the elders are the crowd that sit up on the shed with a look of bemused resignation across their beaks-if birds can look resigned. Either way they're keeping clear of the bush, but I suspect them of plotting.

6:26 p.m.  
Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Isn't the collective noun for magpies, a conspiracy of magpies. Or is it rooks. Or is it a cruelty? Damn their collectively wicked ways!

11:15 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

It's a murder of crows is it not? Magpies hummm, it should be a 'crips of magpies', because de ain't nuthin' but thugs, homie.

11:34 p.m.  
Blogger Manuel said...

Quality, that is all, now move along...

12:39 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

A quality of magpies, I see...well now, one learns sommit new every day.

12:59 a.m.  

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