45 
The Catbird 
tail tip 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 
contradictory? 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 inimitable 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 see 
him on the ground calmly looking for grass- 
hoppers, or daintily helping himself to a morsel 
from the dog’s plate at the kitchen door. Sud- 
denly, with a jerk and a jump, he has sprung 
into the air to seize a passing moth. There is 
always the pleasure of variety and the unex- 
pected about the catbird. 
He is very intelligent and friendly, like his 
cousin, the mockingbird. One catbird that 
