Along with birds, some small wild animals, and one old, arrogant, and defiant squirrel, we live with a pet cat named Catalina. A few months ago, we were awarded custody of a baby duck and two baby chicks that were leftovers from a show-and-tell school project.
The duck and one of the chicks passed on while they were still cute but before there was any emotional attachment. Lucy, the toughest of the trio has survived past prime fryer stage in spite of her fleeting cuteness. We named her Lucy because of the possibility of having to change it to Luther if our gender assessment proved inaccurate.
Early on, Catalina wanted to stalk, kill, and eat the chick. She endured substantial stress as we humans quelled each of her attempts to capture the young chicken. Catalina’s efforts were relegated to catching grasshoppers and stalking but never catching the blue birds nesting nearby.
As Lucy reached the pullet stage, less and less human intervention was needed to assure her safety.
One day Catalina was stalking Lucy. Instead of avoiding contact, Lucy charged pecking the cat on the nose and chasing her up a tree. The blue birds noticed that the cat on the limb was too close to the nest and attacked her running her back down the tree where Lucy chased her around the yard until she lost interest.
They say that humans are the only animals that blush, but I know Catalina was blushing that day. In accordance with her nature, Catalina was simply exercising her rights when confronted with brutal intolerance. I think I know how she feels. There must be a life lesson in there somewhere.–CP