Dedicated to an Irishman who encouraged this [very true] writing.
After high school graduation, I worked full time as a bookkeeper. A year passed and it was my first official ‘vacation’; a whole week off with pay! It was a warm & humid Monday a.m. that I had determined I would ‘sleep-in’ for a change, having no particular plans. Alas, the birds were up early and making an unusually loud racket. I angrily rose and complained to my Mom. She said, “Pam, it’s your cat, Winky...they are taunting him again”.
Winky was a white and beige angora cat I rescued as a kitten from a neighbourhood farm. He was missing his left eye (no eyeball-just the membrane) and had only half of a tail which was 90 degrees crooked from the connection to his spine. He knew he was defective, but he was still a loving & spirited cat. I need to mention my Mom had also rescued a nine year old Seal Point cross-eyed Siamese cat we named Chester.
He was a wise old bloke with a nasty voice. He pretty much kept to himself, except when he would use the bathroom toilet! Really! Squat on!
Out on our front lawn there stood a young Kentucky Coffeetree. Half way up the tree and out on a thin limb was Winky, precariously bouncing up and down. From the dining room window, I could see that there were at least two Blue Jays dive-bombing him from his blind side and pecking him on the head. Mom explained that this was a morning ritual. The Blue Jays would dive-bomb Winky on the ground, and then sit on a low branch of the tree to coax him up the tree and out on to a thin limb.
Livid at being rudely awakened on my first official ‘sleep-in’ day, I went out in my ‘baby doll’ pajamas! At first the Jays tried to intimidate me! I made an arm-waving boisterous fuss and then coaxed Winky down from his tree limb, as the Blue Jays sat perched on the utility wires watching. Grumbling, I went back to bed.
This scenario repeated itself once more in the Kentucky Coffeetree out front. Again, grumbling, I went back to bed.
Not too long after the fuss began for the third time from our back yard right outside my bedroom window! The Jays had coaxed Winky up into the Weeping Willow tree and out onto a thin branch. There he sat, bobbing, again!
My Dad was a gun enthusiast. And a few years earlier, I had achieved high marksmanship with his 22-long-rifle at the Sportsmen’s Club of which he was president. He had very strict rules about his firearms. I told my Mom I wanted to use his air rifle to shoot at the Blue Jays, with NO pellet...just to discourage them with a rush of air. She said, ‘O.K., only if NO PELLET; O.K. call Dad’. I had to bother my father at work to get his permission to touch the air rifle.
Dad didn’t particularly like cats, except for Winky. Dad had taught Winky how to ‘fetch’ by crinkling up the cellophane from his cigarette pack and tossing it. Winky would cheerfully bring it back to Dad, including jumping up onto his lap with it and dropping it.
Needless to say, Dad said to me over the phone, “Put a pellet in it!” He was annoyed at being bothered at work, but even more annoyed to find out what was going on! {Poor handicapped kitty being harassed by big bad Blue Jays!} I argued the ‘pellet’ point briefly...but this was my Dad...I didn’t win any arguments with him! “PUT A PELLET IN IT! But don’t tell your mother. And call me back.” he lumbered.
Winky was bobbing out on a thin limb of the Weeping Willow. Unbeknownst to me, Chester was waiting and watching in a hiding place below. My Mom was standing beside me as I took aim from my bedroom window. And the noisiest Blue Jay had perched on a tree limb close to the trunk of the tree. I made a perfect shot!
The Jay spread his exquisite blue wings wide open and then dropped like a rock to the ground below. Like a symphony of commotion, suddenly there were tens of birds all chirping and diving in an attempt to help the dead Blue Jay. Chester wasted NO time to move in for the breakfast; snatching the Jay amidst the other birds and dashing off to a new hiding place. My Mom was hitting me on my shoulder and back, yelling repeatedly, “YOU PUT A PELLET IN IT!” Poor clueless Winky, I had to go out and coax him down.
When I came out {still in my baby-doll pajamas} all of the birds became silent. It was a guilt-filled eerie silence, for me.
Shamefully, I went in and called my Dad. I was pleasantly surprised at the response I got from him, when I narrated the whole ugly scene to him. He laughed! Something my Dad did not often do! The best part for him was Chester’s breakfast. When he came home that evening, I learned how to clean an air rifle. I still have that air rifle, 43 years later.
