This morning, I awoke twice: before the birds began chirping, around 4:30, then again at 6:45. Another gorgeous Saturday morning. Temperature in the mid-60s (Fahrenheit), gentle breeze rustling the leaves, happy little birds holding another Sunrise Concert. Actually, they might not have been all that happy - I read somewhere that most of that early morning chirping is about marking territory, and the more threatened the bird feels, the more it chirps. Whatever the reason, it sounded great.
...
Then I let the cats out. Concert stopped. Three blue jays swept down from the red oak screeching their "CAT! CAT! CA-A-A-T!" alarm call, and all hell broke loose!
...
Every bird in the back yard congregated in the three or four trees near the side gate, giving the terrified cats (who had stopped dead in their tracks and stayed that way) the fright of their lives. I suspect this has happened before because not a hair moved on them, that I could see. Their radar-like ears were pointed forward, not a twitch between them.
...
Before the cats could make a graceful exit, or even sit down, the crows arrived, all seven of them squawking and croaking bloody murder. Smaller birds gave up their perches for the Enforcers, but joined in as best they could with their own scolding calls. What cacophony!
...
I ran for my recorder, thinking this noise would make a wonderful background sound for the blog. Where had I put it? Shoot! Batteries are dead! Where is that new multi-pack I bought last month? Oh, no! There's corrosion on the one terminal...no wonder the thing doesn't work. Gotta clean that before I put new batteries in. Where are those darned cotton-swabs? I check both bathroom closets with no luck, so I dampen a paper towel with some white vinegar (which works like a charm, by the way) and wipe it clean.
...
Can't find my glasses, so I can't see which way the batteries are supposed to go in...oh, wait...the flat end goes against the spring and the terminal (obviously--duh!) goes in the other end.
...
As I'm rushing toward the back door, rejuvenated recorder in hand and recording perfectly, I trip over one of the cat toys and bang against the screen door. Recorder falls to the floor, case cracks open when it hits the floor. Batteries roll off in opposite directions.
...
Outside, the cats leap up as if they'd been goosed, the small birds flap as fast as possible back to their territorial perches and the crows move higher into the sassafras. Scolding the cats is over, as is the Sunrise Concert.
...
It is now 6:50 AM. How could so much chaos take place in less than five minutes?
...
Upon examination, I see the recorder isn't damaged too much. I can fix the crack with duct tape. I'm out of the pink tape so I'll have to use the purple. (Listen, duct tape is a girl's best friend - that, and a .44!)
...
After collecting cat toys and stray batteries - and my composure - my stomach Beast begins to rumble a little. Not quite the "Feed me" rumble, but I know it's coming, so I head to the 'fridge to see what we can have for breakfast.
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"Breakfast?" Beast asks, slowly rising from its bed at the bottom of my stomach. "Did you just think the word 'breakfast'?"
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Am I not standing in front of the Major Food Shrine, I respond, rather sarcastically. Can you not see its 15-watt glow, feel its 35F coolness?
...
The Beast rumbles hard against my diaphragm. Urrrrrrp!
...
Sliced ham, eggs, bread, butter and grape jelly. Oh, yes...grated Asiago cheese, left over from a previous meal. The coffee I started as soon as I came downstairs this morning has finished dripping, so we're in good shape. A feast for the Beast!
...
The chives in my herb bed have flowered, which means they are long past cutting stage, heading for seed formation and withering, so I cut a few stems to put in the eggs. Ham gets diced, as do the chive stems and flowers. They are mixed in with the scrambled eggs and cheese, poured into hot butter in my favorite skillet; toast is dropped, coffee mug filled.
...
Eggs cook and are plated with a few seconds to spare before the toast pops up. The feast is assembled and I take it to the back room, where that gentle breeze I mentioned before brings into the room the early morning aromas of other feasts being cooked in other homes down the block.
...
Life is so damned good, I can hardly stand it!
(c) 2009 Photo and text. Martha McLemore
24 comments:
An anthropomorphic personification of Morning.
Sounds like an interesting morning. I never knew that about early morning bird chirps, how it's actually territorial. Sort of puts it in a whole new light. To us their chirping is almost a sign of peacefulness and calm, but to them it is the exact opposite.
Zhoen:
Thank you. I wish I could write as well as Pratchett.
:D
Walter:
I was surprised when I read that about their morning chirping myself. Doesn't matter...I still love to hear them sing...or give their battle cry, whichever!
:)
Hmmm...I'm getting hungry just reading this.
Where we live the most regularly vocal birds are the blackbirds. They advertise their presence on a morning as you describe. If a cat appears at any time of the day there is a veritable cacophany of noise; particularly when the young are old enough to sing but still young enough to be with their parents.
It's fun to hear the warning songs dissipate only to start up again further away, in another blackbird's territory, as they all notify each other as to where the cat is.
I was just about to suggest adding chopped chives to the scrambled egg but you were ahead of me. Another suggestion: fragments of smoked salmon.
Congrats on some genuine narrative tension: a cascade of irritations, leading to a mini-domestic-tragedy, leading to swearing aloud (in my case, anyway), leading to wondering whether you were overhead, leading finally to something positive - "Hey, this would make a good post." And it did.
Just one cautionary note (only one this time): given the confusion arising out of a mere tape recorder, suggest you keep the forty-four in a holster hanging from a nail just inside the door.
John/AWB:
I've noticed that ripple of warning in my neighborhood, as well. Seems birds the world over are much the same...just like us humans, actually.
Can't prove it yet, but I think it is the blue jays that call in the crows. They're cousins in the same family, you know. What's intersting to me is that the smaller songbirds, including the jays, usually put up a ruckus when the crows come too near their nests, yet band together to scare off a cat.
Probabaly a twist on that old saw about 'the enemy of my enemy...': only, for birds, it's "The enemy of my enemy is my enemy, too."
:)
Hello, BB:
Smoked salmon sounds like it would be very good in the scrambleds. I will try that one of these mornings.
Thank you for the kind words about the post. It went down pretty much as you describe, too!
As for the .44, I don't have one yet. That expression (re: duct tape and .44) arose from a comment I made to my sister in Louisiana as I was catching a plane back to Pennsylvania. However, I do plan to purchase one (and learn to shoot it well) before I take my dreamed-of biker road trip. There are venomous snakes and other varmints on the road one must protect against. I will store it - and several rolls of duct tape - in my road repair kit.
Hope you and family have a wonderful holiday, by the way!
:D
I prefer a 9 mm auto for lightweight and concealability, but otherwise I sympathized totally. Especially the part about needing glasses to see which way the batteries go in--geez, when did that happen?
ER:
Despite the fact that I took a course titled Arson, Bombs and Ballistics while acquiring an AS in Criminal Justice (Evidence Collection), I know very little about guns...and am more than just a little bit intimidated by them. However, I am sensible enough to know one might prove useful during my proposed journey.
Somehow, packing a piece doesn't quite square with being a Quaker, though. I'll have to give gun ownership some more thought.
About the batteries: as soon as my finger depressed the spring in the battery compartment, I remembered about the flat end on the spring. Sort of like remembering lefty-loosey and righty-tighty. Mnemonics are our friends!
I have five (six?) pairs of glasses, strategically placed around the house in areas where I am most likely to need one, yet never seem to find a pair when I'm in a hurry for them. Go figure!
:)
There was obviously a conspiracy of birds and cats that thwarted your plans to record the avian equivalent of the Alleluiah Chorus. But the breakfast sounded wonderful.
Susan:
I wondered whether there might be collusion on their parts, because when the crows finally took off, it sounded as if they were laughing. I just assumed they were laughing at the cats. Maybe not!
:D
(Listen, duct tape is a girl's best friend - that, and a .44!) - love this and so true!
This is a fantastic post and so speaks to me as I have often gone running, rather skidding is a better description, for my camera, only to realize I once again don't know where it is and thus, got no picture of the lovely flighty birds!!! You describe everything so beautifully, painting a picture that is brilliantly spiked with all things good, like asiago cheese! Thanks for sharing ;)
blessings to you...
Cats would never collude; too demeaning for their imperious nature.
I think the crows laugh at them; the adult blackbirds too, 'Can't catch me, can't catch me'
But the cats ignore that and get their revenge when they catch a youngster.
Linda:
I don't know what made me make that remark to my sister, but it sounded right once said. Just being a smart-aleck, I suppose.
:)
John/AWB:
Perhaps collusion is inappropriate. Our cats are devious enough to undertake such an action, but I think it is the crows that would decline.
:)
We let Mandy, one of our cats, out when we are working in the yard. I can track her progress by the amount and frequency of birds fussing at her. She is mostly harmless, as she has no teeth, but still likes to gum grass.
Loved this one. On the topic of life being good... I have a small tag topic for you.
http://crows-feet.blogspot.com/2009/06/cliff-has-tagged-me-to.html
Hello, RR:
Our cats (my daughter's, actually) are boys coming up on one year old. They are still learning what they can and should not chase, and the crows keep them in line...pretty much.
:)
Hello, Michelle:
I'll visit your blog when I get home this evening to see what you have for me.
PS: I am enjoying your poetry so very much.
:)
Good luck teaching those cats to be Quakers! We've had some that get the message, some that would climb an 80 foot spruce to get a pine siskin after eating three cans of tuna...
today I am in a lovely setting on a retreat...I walked a labyrinth and listened to bird song... isn't the mundane world just the best!!
I loved the sweetness of your post...thanks!
ER:
I am of the opinion it is unlikely I'll ever teach our cats anything they don't want to learn.
Besides, they are the Masters and I their student. Sigh...
:)
Harlequin:
It sounds lovely where you are. Hope all is well with you.
:)
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