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The Catbird 
Inquisitive and 
Confidential 
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 
that the brilliant plumage of the Scarlet Tanager or the 
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 
