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There seems to be an element of desperation in the singing of the house wren now. The little bird seems to me to be singing as a duty. I don’t hear the exuberant joy in his song I heard in early May.
Of course, all that is a projection of my feelings and emotions into the behavior of a little 4 1/3-inch brown bird. It is all very unscientific — I should not indulge in such speculation. Yet, I do.
I am sure the wren lost his mate to a four-foot black snake. Jays announced the presence of the snake with strident cries of outrage on June 2. It was noon, and I was in the kitchen, making sandwiches for Lee and me. Suddenly, the jays began screaming very close to the house. Lee said, “It’s that white cat!”
A dirty-white cat that seems to belong to no one has appeared in the back yard. On two occasions, I have seen it sitting on the feeder and calmly giving himself (or herself) a cleaning.
When I looked out the kitchen window, I saw three jays bouncing the limbs of the maple tree and screaming in outrage. No cat was in view. Was it a hawk?
I was sure that if I opened the back door, the hawk — if it was that — would take off with the jays in close, but not too close, pursuit.
When I went outside, the jays remained at the end of the maple branch hanging over the steps coming up from the back year. They peered down and let out their penetrating cries: jay, jay, jay. A chickadee and two robins joined in the general chorus of alarm.
Then I saw it. A four-foot
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