Birds & Nature Magazine 



17 



The Cat Bird 



By JOSEPH and ELIZABETH GRINNELL 



HE is not always the cat-bird, O no! 

 He is one of our sweetest singers 

 before day has fairly opened her 

 eyes. Before it is light enough 

 to be sure if what one sees be a bird or 

 a shadow, the cat-bird is in the bushes. 



Singing as he flits, this early riser and 

 early eater passes from bush to bush on 

 the fringed edge of morning, conscious of 

 happiness and hunger. With a quaint 

 talent for mimicry he tries to produce the 

 notes of other birds, with partial success; 

 giving only short snatches, however, as if 

 afraid to trust himself. 



In the hush of evening, wheri the 

 cricket's chirp has a drow^sy tone, the cat- 

 bird makes his melody, each individual 

 with cadences of his own. Now like a 

 thrush and now like a nightingale, he sings, 

 though he is not to be compared with the 

 mocking-bird in powers of mimicry. Yet 

 his own personal notes are as sweet as the 

 mocker's. 



But, like most persons, he has "another 

 side," on which account he came by his 

 name. And his mate is Mrs. Cat-bird as 

 well, for she, too, imitates the feline foe 

 of all birds, more especially at nesting-time. 



There is a legend to fit the case, as usual. 

 The bird was once a great gray cat, and 

 got its living by devouring the young of 

 such birds as nest in low bushes. 



All the birds met in convention to pray 

 the gods they might be rid of this particular 

 cat. 



As no created thing may be absolutely de- 

 prived of life, but only transformed into 

 some other being, this cat was changed into 

 a bird, henceforth doomed to mew and 

 scream like a kitten in trouble. 



Its note long since ceased to have much 

 effect upon the birds, who seldom mistake 

 its cry for that of their real enemy in fur 

 and claw^s. 



Not so its human friends, for it takes a 

 fine ear indeed to distinguish the bird from 

 a cat when neither is in sight. 



Now this bird, doomed, as the supersti- 

 tion runs, to prowl and lurk about in dark 

 places near the ground, seldom flies high, 

 nor does it often nest in trees. This does 

 not prevent the singer from exercising his 

 musical talents, however, more than it does 

 the meadow-lark or the song-sparrow. 



It is in midsummer that the cat-bird is 

 best known as the bird that "mews." Then 

 both birds, if one approaches the nest, fly 

 at the intruder, wings drooping, tail spread, 

 beak open, whole attitude one of scolding 

 anger. 



In this mood the bird fears nothing, even 

 making up to a stranger, and pecking at 

 him. If it would pass with the waning 

 summer and the maturing of the young 

 birds, this bad temper of the cat-bird would 

 be more tolerable; but once acquired, the 

 habit clings to it, and it may be that not 

 till next winter will it get over the fit. 



The favorite site of the cat-bird for nest- 

 ing, as we have observed it, is the middle 

 of a patch of blackberry bushes, so dense 

 and untrimmed it would be impossible for 

 any one save a bird to reach it. Even the 

 parent bird must creep on "all twos" or 

 dodge along beneath the briers. We have 

 known it to build in a thick vine over the 

 door. 



The cat-bird and brown thrasher were 

 always together in our Tennessee garden ; 

 each fearless, nesting near the door, eating 

 the same food, but differing in personal 

 habits. The cat-bird's nest was in the 

 blackberries, the thrasher's in the honey- 

 suckle. We often borrowed the young 

 thrashers for exhibition to our friends in 

 the parlor. After the first time or two the 

 parents did not care, but watched quietly 



