50 BIRDS 



Mountains, rarely to Pacific Coast. Winters in South- 

 ern states. Central America, and Cuba. 

 Migrations — May. November. Common summer resi- 

 dent. 



Slim, lithe, elegant, dainty, the catbird, as he runs lightly 

 over the lawn or hunts among the shrubbery, appears to be 

 a fine gentleman among his kind — a sort of Beau Brummel, 

 in smooth, gray feathers who has preened and prinked 

 until his toilet is quite faultless. He is among the first to 

 discover the bathing dish or drinking pan that you have set 

 up in your garden, for he is not too squeamish, in spite of 

 his fine appearance, to drink from his bath. With well- 

 poised, black-capped head erect, and tail up, too, wren 

 fashion, he stands at attention on the rim of the dish, alert, 

 listening, tense — ^the neatest, trimmest figure in birddom. 



After he has flown off to the nearest thicket, what a 

 change suddenly comes over him! Can it be the same 

 bird? With puffed-out, ruffled feathers, hanging head and 

 drooping tail, he now suggests a fat, tousled schoolboy 

 just tumbled out of bed Was ever a bird more contra- 

 dictory? One minute, from the depths of the bushy 

 undergrowth where he loves to hide, he delights you with 

 the sweetest of songs, not loud like the brown thrasher's, 

 but similar; only it is more exquisitely finished, and 

 rippling. Prut! prut! coquillicot! he begins. Really, 

 really, coquillicot! Hey, coquillicot! Hey, victory! his in- 

 imitable song goes on like a rollicking recitative. The 

 next minute you would gladly stop your ears when he 

 utters the disagreeable cat-call that has given him his 

 name. Zeay, Zeay — whines the petulant cry. Now you 



