Saturday, May 16, 1998

Belligerent birds furnish key lessons

By Sharon Randall

I thought I had problems, but I don't. Problems are a matter of perspective.

It started last week when I heard a blue jay squawking outside my window. That, of course, was not unusual.

Jays are the Jesse Helms of the bird world. They love to hear themselves squawk. They have this whiny, high-pitched, chalk-on-the- blackboard chirp that makes you just want to grab them and punch them in their little beaks. Not that you ever would, of course.

Anyhow, the thing about this jay's squawk was that it never stopped. At least, not for long. Then I noticed, ace observer that I am, that the squawk seemed connected to our cat. When the cat sat in the window -- which is basically what she does when she's not eating or sleeping or trying to bite me -- the bird would perch just outside, shrieking as if its tail feathers were on fire. And when the cat went out, the bird would be waiting to swoop down and peck the fur off the top of the cat's head.

The closest I'd ever come to that kind of raw animal aggression was getting flogged by my grandmother's rooster. Which by the way, ended up deep fried for Sunday dinner.

Yes, I am well aware of the adversarial nature of the relationship between cats and birds. I grew up watching Sylvester and Tweety on TV. But Sylvester was always the aggressor. You never saw Tweety go after him like a crazy rooster jumping a child who loves fried chicken.

This cat, who's been known to make German shepherds beg for mercy, is terrified to leave the house. When she does go out, she darts under bushes ducking for cover, then pounds on the door to get back in.

I was so baffled I had to call and tell my sister.

"That bird's protecting a nest somewhere," she said matter-of- factly, as if any fool would know it. "She's just being a good mama."

Suddenly, it made perfect sense. I'd had babies myself once, years ago. To keep them safe, I would have gone after Godzilla with my bare hands. Still would, if need be. And I must admit, more than once in their defense, I have sounded very much like that jay.

I'm trying to keep the cat inside, but it's hopeless trying to keep her out of the window. So the jay squawks on all the day long and even at night, it seems, in my dreams.

Listen. Can you hear her?

I was feeling downright besieged until I read a news story last week about a house in Pasadena that got invaded by 1,000 migratory birds.

I don't know who counted all the four-inch Vaux's swifts that took a detour down the house's chimney on their way north from Mexico or Central America. The estimate probably came from fire and police officials who rousted the invaders from behind furniture and picture frames and such. I doubt the number came from the house's owners. If a flock of birds came flapping down my chimney, I wouldn't care if it was a thousand or a zillion. Birds is birds. I'd be too busy running for my life.

The point of this story is twofold: First, it pays to read a newspaper to maintain one's perspective. And second, it also pays to keep a spark arrester on one's chimney.

Hope those poor people didn't have a cat.

Sharon Randall is a winner of the American Association of Sunday and Feature Editors and the Best of the West commentary awards.

Scripps Howard News Service