“Prominent NZ economist and environmentalist, Gareth Morgan,
wants his country 100 percent cat-free and he's willing to go extraordinary
lengths to make it a reality.” Leads the Atlantic.com.
This Eradicate-Killer-Cats Campaign has got me
riled. Let’s stop the bird slaughter and save our cats, I decided and promptly
bought my cat a double belled cat collar. I’d show Mr Morgan. I’d stop my
moggie serving up his first avian dish at dawn. Pft said, Burnt Toast, ‘I’m a
country cat, that’s how I roll’.
BT was riled too, when I put the spiffy electric-blue-belled
stretchy piece of elastic around his throat. It ruffled his fur, made him look
like a cad, not the rural lay about that he is. He mewed and thrashed at his neck
with his hind paws. He got that collar off within two minutes and looked at me
like I was a cruel ringmaster. Fiddlesticks.
I put it back on. Three times.
Strangely, by then he accepted the noose around
his neck. Then he lay back looking like the cat that got the cream AND a fancy new
accessory.
The next morning, he entered our bedroom,
through the toilet window, as is his habit. That awful muffled meow, now with a double belled salute, trumpeted in
his first kill of the day.
What a waste of $14.50, I thought and listened
to sharp incisors crushing delicate bone. It was too late to save it, so I put
the pillow over my head and waited for the alarm. The lady at the vets said
people had been rushing in and buying extra bells, were they also trying to
stem Mr Morgans fury? Save life with cats as we know it? Or save their white
shag pile carpets? Perhaps I needed three bells. Or four? Were the birds around my property deaf
or plain dumb? I got up, picked speckled
wings off the carpet and filled the cat bowl with Purina One.
By 10 am Burnie had toasted another sparrow. This
was followed by a field mouse, (they’re most fun to play with). Then a waxeye
at noon.
The stupid collar had done nothing but instigate
a massacre. Its happy jingle had drawn the defenseless birds to him. He’d
become a feline pied piper.
He disappeared for the rest of the day. Repleat.
Naturally, I worried he’d snagged his brand new
collar on a branch, struggled to free himself and twisted his collar tighter
and tighter around his neck and inadvertently hung himself. Mortal moggie terror welled within.
At 5pm, casual as, Burnt Toast strode into the
courtyard calling that mocking, come-and-see-what-I’ve-killed call, I’m sick to
death hearing. Not another one? He
dropped a sparrow onto the grass and washed his paws. His bells rattled. He was
too hot and bothered to eat. I was too hot and bothered to start cooking the
kid’s dinner and save the birds. Bag tally: 4.
I wanted to contact Mr Morgan. Wouldn’t it be
more humane (fel-ane mm not a word) to do some R & D, to create a
run-away-quick-little-birdie bored cat about to claw you in the neck then eat
you alive device? It could be added to
the microchip Mr Morgan wants inserted in every cat. Responsible owners and all
that.
Instead of jumping in boots and all and dealing
up payback for the lost birds by eradicating the entire cat population of NZ. I
know, I know, Mr Morgan actually wants to neuter every domestic and feral tom
cat so our feline population gradually dies off. Completely.
I’m caught in the middle. I LOVE the company of
cats. I also love our native birds and skinks and geckos. If there is such a
thing as cat shame? I have it. But what
to do. I can’t kill my cat. The kids would be bereft. He sleeps on their bed at
night, when he’s not eating fresh kill under mine.
I’m happy to say by 11.45pm the following day,
collar was still intact and no birds had been consumed. Perhaps it’s all down
to education.
(please note: this cat has constant access to catbix. Birds are most active one hour before sunrise and one hour after sunset).
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