278 The Catbird 



Through the Thrashers, on the other hand, he traces relationship to 

 the Wrens, having the same short, rounded wing and long tail, and the 

 tarsus composed of distinct plates and not welded together into a boot, 

 as in the Thrushes. 



Not only is the Catbird's plumage distinctive, but it is not subject 

 to variation. Wherever found, Catbirds male, female, and young, 

 winter or summer are alike. 



Dr. Coues, I remember, in his classic account of the Catbird, refers 



to him as distinctly commonplace, and there seems to be something about 



the bird that deserves this epithet. He is so familiar to everyone, so 



associated with everyday scenes and occupations, that he seems almost 



a part of them, and occasions none of the enthusiasm 



Inquisitive and that the brilliant p i umage o f t h e Scarlet Tanager or the 



Confidential , , , TTT 11-11 A i 



clear notes of the Wood Thrush arouses. And yet, 

 when we stop to consider him, there is something very dear to us in the 

 homely presence and the sometimes harsh voice of the Catbird. 



The confidence that he seems to show toward mankind by living about 

 the house, in dooryard, garden, or orchard-thicket, his apparent interest in 

 everything that is going on, even if it border on inquisitiveness, and 

 his song, low-pitched and erratic though it be, all endear him to us. 



Every old garden has somewhere about it a shady thicket of lilacs, 

 mock-orange, or some similiar shrubbery in a niche by the back porch, 

 perhaps, or behind the greenhouse, or over in the corner where the fences 

 come together ; and it is with such a spot that the Catbird is most closely 

 associated in my mind. His song comes bubbling in through the open 

 window, and let us but step outside and stroll down the garden-path, 

 and the Catbird is at once close at hand, full of curiosity and nervous 

 anxiety, uttering at frequent intervals that harsh, irritating, complaining 

 cry. 



When the house-cat selects some comfortable spot in the old garden 

 for an afternoon nap, the Catbird is immediately at hand, and will mount 

 guard by the hour with a continuous fire of harsh, monotonous, though 

 utterly futile protests, so long as puss remains on the field. Perhaps, 

 however, he may have good reason for his anxiety, for 

 back in the heart of that shrubbery his nest is no doubt 

 situated, lodged firmly among the branches, built of 

 twigs, dead leaves and plant-stems, and neatly lined with fine rootlets, 

 holding perhaps four deep blue eggs which his mate is patiently incu- 

 bating. The number of eggs varies from three or five ; and about the 

 middle of May we find the clutch complete and incubation begun ; and 

 usually, I think, another brood is raised later on in June. 



As the visitor passes out of his domain, the Catbird is back again 

 among the lilac-bushes and, casting all anxiety to the winds, he ruffles 

 out his plumage, droops his wings, and there gurgles forth that peculiar 

 medley of liquid notes and harsh tones that strike one as almost ridicu- 

 lous. The notes follow one another so unexpectedly that the whole pose 



A Home in 

 the Thicket 



