Spring Doctrine
The wattle
birds are nesting
in our neighbour’s
garden.
I know,
because Mr. Wattle
has been
terrorising our cat.
The cat does
not know, or
understand
the reason for
the
plummeting dives that
aim and
repeat, relentless
at his
sleepy, feline head.
He is a
dullard cat, slow
of limb and
reason. Small threat
to any
chicks. But in the ideology
of bird, he
is Enemy; foul progeny
of a bloodstained
history,
and the
bird, in its small
brain, knows
one thing only:
The
blasphemy of cat must
be
destroyed. So with dedicated
zeal, the
feathered terrorist
wears
himself witless harrying
our fat cat. Hunger and fatigue
have no consequence;
his
sacrificial duty
all-consuming.
He bonds himself
to death, a
winged prayer
of destruction, as
the
hapless moggy ducks
his head in
puzzlement.
Kerry Miller
A couple of springs ago, a wattle bird dedicated himself to eliminating our cat. The idealistic zeal he displayed was remarkable. On a couple of occasions, he even entered the house, chasing the cat. It struck me then, as a good subject for a poem, but I didn't actually write it down until now.
