Today I saw a blue flash on the path, by the dustbins. Feathers like a new soft toy, lying on its side. Not yet learned to fly and dead already, a blue tit left like waste after the pleasure of the kill.
And it reminded me of the time I had a family in my garden, the parents so diligent in their duty to feed the young. I watched them going in and out of the bird box. I opened it and saw four precious babies, little jewels of colour huddled together, waiting. One day I was one emerged, then another, then hiding in the garden behind the pots, in shady corners, under shrubs. The parents called to them and fed them.
The next morning I saw the parents looking confused on the wall. I looked for their young. I found them one by one, their feathers in array, their claws curled, on their sides. A cat, not mine, had spent the night rounding them up and with a clamp of the jaws, extinguished them before they even flew. The parents stayed looking but soon after left.
If you have a cat, keep it in at night now so that they can return next spring. The cats can’t help it but you can, before they all leave us.
Susan Prior, Alred Street, Westbury
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