Going out to clean the birdbath one sunny afternoon,
I nearly stumbled over the lifeless body of her first victim -
at least
the first I knew of. Later, glancing out the back window,
to my horror, I saw her deal the deathblow to a second victim.
It happened so
fast, I had no time to do anything but watch. By the end of
the week, the body count had risen to three.
Knowing a killer is loose in your backyard, of course, is
disturbing. I was particularly upset because this fiendish
stalker had made me her unwitting accomplice. I was luring
unsuspecting victims to her killing fields with irresistible
bait - sunflower seeds and a cozy birdbath.
Carrie, the crafty murderess, is an unimposing little gray
and
white cat who moves with such cunning and maintains such a low
profile in the shadows I have a hard time spotting her even
when I know exactly where she is. She isn't the first stalker
to stake out my backyard for potential victims, she's just the
first to actually succeed. Others - we'll call them Bonnie and
Clyde, to avoid embarrassment - thinking themselves well
concealed, patiently waited for victims who never arrived as
they crouched in full view of everyone. A blind bat could have
spotted them from across the yard. Klutzy Clyde once tried to
scale my back fence but was reluctant to jump five feet to the
ground. He perched precariously on a post for 5 minutes while
the squirrels snickered up their sleeves between mouthfuls of
peanuts.
Bonnie, stalking stealthily across the yard, was once so
startled at suddenly discovering my presence just a couple
feet away (I had been in plain sight for several minutes as
she scanned the area), she literally jumped a foot into the
air. It was a week before she's recovered her dignity enough
to return. Or maybe by then the entire incident had been lost
in her sievelike memory.
I got a kick out of Bonnie and Clyde's clumsy hunting forays.
But Carrie was a different matter. Carrie has the heart of a
true hunter - a natural-born killer. Kin to the tiger, she was
perfectly crafted in body and mind for success as a top
predator, though her jungle was the wilds of suburban
Philadelphia, and her prey were unwary wrens and sparrows.
As Elizabeth Marshall Thomas wrote in Tribe of Tiger,
"most of
us don't know our cats. Hunting, if we stop to think of it,
should of necessity be topmost in their minds." Even
in play
they practice their stalking, pouncing, and chasing skills.
Thomas and her husband once watched in amazement as two
terrified deer came bolting out of the woods behind their New
Hampshire home. Bounding close behind was their own small cat,
arms stretched out and claws fully extended in pursuit of the
two full-grown bucks. One can only wonder what he would have
done if he'd actually caught them.
But then, the mind of a cat is a mystery. Despite their killer
instinct, they can be loving and gentle, even with their
natural enemies who've become part of the family. I've seen
cats peacefully coexisting with rats, birds, and rabbits who they
clearly regard as siblings and not potential meals. Thomas
speculates that two species, even in the wild, can find a
common center of understanding once they cross the bridge that
separates them. A lone hiker on a mountain trail who was
attacked from behind and knocked down by a puma, twisted
herself around to face her attacker and began talking to it in
a soothing voice. Sensing his dinner wasn't behaving as dinner
should, the puma stopped his attack and listened to the woman
long enough for a group of hikers to come along and chase him
away.
Carrie no longer visits my backyard. Her family moved and she
went with them. I can't say I miss her, and I'm sure all my
backyard wildlife breathed a sigh of relief. Other cats have
tried their luck at my birdbath and feeders, but none has had
any success. Then again, maybe they've just learned that birdwatching
can sometimes be its own reward even for cats.
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