Column: Izzy and the birds
(Editors note: We receive these columns several weeks in advance.)
This was the weekend designated to turn our clocks ahead in pursuit of additional late afternoon sunlight, a tradition that has lasted far longer than the family farming that contributed to this idea.
It’s also the weekend that Mother Nature decided to pound the area with one more major snow blast, a bomb cyclone which is two levels above snizzle — snow and drizzle. We’re experiencing high winds, lots of snow, and hopefully, that one last white-out before the daffodils burst through the ground and grass cutting begins again.
Because yesterday was such a beautiful calm before the storm day, I decided I’d do the noble thing in preparation for the onslaught of predicted cold and fill the bird feeders. The local feed mill thinks I have a branch of the Pittsburgh Aviary. There are only about 10 feeding stations, but for whatever reason, they seem to have become more popular than the Homestead Inn on a Friday night.
Today, however, has been by far the biggest gathering of winter and spring birds we’ve ever seen. Yes, the normal 23 or so doves are there, as are the snowbirds, cardinals, the little brown birds, the blue jays, and that one rabbit that loves eating the seeds that are flung to the ground. Today, however, there have been at least 10 other species, and they’ve eaten so much I had to trek back out into the winter wonderland to feed them again.
Interestingly, Izzy the cat has permanently perched herself on the back of the couch near the windows where she stares out at her winged friends much the same way my wife and I binge a Netflix series. She, however, has developed an interesting move which is kind of fun to watch. About every 20 minutes or so, she throws herself against the window, not enough to hurt herself or to cause any damage, but clearly enough to make all 30-plus birds take off in a flurry.
The birds fly for approximately five seconds to a neighboring tree, they sit there for a little while, and then they return, and the game begins again. No one is injured from this little escapade, but it sure keeps things interesting. I’m pretty sure she’s just doing it to keep her kitty-skills sharp. You see, she’s a house cat, and to our knowledge, has only ever caught one thing, a fly in 2013.
As I debated making a second trip to the bird seed, sunflower seed, peanuts, suet, and stale crackers station to refill the quickly consumed feeders, my old mind went back to my young mind and said, “You might as well check the mail.” Let’s be clear on this. To check the mail, I’d have to put on a coat, hat, gloves, grab a snow shovel, and work my way down the driveway where the temperature is 16 degrees, and the winds are blowing at about 45 mph.
The operative words above were snow and shovel. As a mid-seventies guy with seven stents, an artificial heart valve, a-fib, and some well-known challenges still in place, touching a snow shovel can be the third rail of my existence. However, my dumb Superman mind took over, and I did just that. I shoveled my way to the bottom of the driveway where, of course, no mail had been delivered. By the time I had made my way back to the garage to prepare the several containers for the birds in the back of the house, I felt my heart beating like a baby rabbit’s.
The good news is that it stopped. Okay, it didn’t stop completely, that wouldn’t have been good news for me. It did stop fibbing or whatever that term is, and I returned to the couch, the gas fireplace, and bird watching knowing that at least some of mother nature’s creatures would be a little more comfortable due to my work.
This article originally appeared on The Daily American: Nick Jacobs column about his cat and the birds outside
