Fatal Attack in My Back Yard

Lately my back yard has been strewn with decomposing bodies left by my cat. Usually I miss out on the drama that precedes each unpleasant discovery -- my cat, Diz, is generous with her kills -- but last night as I was trying to order take out for dinner (from Anh Thu, excellent Vietnamese restaurant) there was such a ruckus I could hardly make out the voice on the phone. A fledgling blue jay on its maiden flight had an unfortunate encounter with Diz; its parents went into full alarm mode, prompting my dog to join the hellish chorus.

The parent jays kept up swooping down on Diz, keeping her at bay, and the stunned baby bird managed to hop first onto an iron Chinese garden lamp and thence to a low branch. My neighbor favored euthanasia for the little creature, which had a drop of blood on its beak, and offered me the use of his shovel. But I thought the creature might survive, and I couldn't bring myself to dispatch it while its parents were still doing all they could to give it a chance to do so.

However much Diz thirsts for blood, and however cruel her batting small creatures about once she catches them seems to me (I once saw a polar bear on TV play the same way with a couple of penguins bobbing about like float toys ), she doesn't gloat or make visits to the taxidermist with the remains of her more impressive kills. The next morning she was back to eating cat food from her bowl as though nothing had happened, while I went into the yard to check on the little jay. Its only motion was the down on its back waving gently in the morning breeze. The adult jays were nowhere to be seen. Grieving, I suppose, if birds grieve.