My sweet Oscar a killer?
I walked outside, the other morning, to find my cat murdering a bird. He was batting the helpless creature around like one of the toys he ignores, clearly preferring the real deal. And like every single pet owner on the planet, I was horrified and surprised. What? My sweet kitty a murderer? Never! Why, I don’t know what got into my docile little pup — he’s never attacked anyone before. It must be something about you or your scent.
How many times have we heard this? Said this? And yes, we truly do believe that the fuzzy little face and big innocent eyes, the creature that trembles uncontrollably during thunderstorms or curls up by our side on the couch would never — not ever — be capable of harming another creature. Not my Poopsie/ Fluffy/Waggles/etc. No. I mean, until they do. And then it’s a shock.
And so it was for me, except that I guess it kind of wasn’t. There were signs, if I’m being honest. That baby bunny a few weeks back. The mice in my previous residence I heard him thumping to death in the middle of the night. The fact that I have to mix warm water in with his wet food to make it more palatable, so that it tastes like the meat of a fresh kill. But really, how could I have known?
Need I remind you that I am a diehard animal fanatic? It says so, right there in all of my social media bios, just in case you need proof. Birds included. But when those rodents ventured into my home uninvited and Oscar the formerly-feral cat took matters into his own paws, I was OK with that. It was, as a friend put it, God’s work.
Someone once shamed me for letting him back outside, months after he adjusted to living in a house, morphing from a wild animal into a placid lump of fluff who barely hoists his fat ass off the couch even for his favourite treats. Cats kill birds, she pointed out. To which I shot back, he’s probably eating fewer now than he did. But whatever. Mine isn’t eating birds, I told myself. He’s fed regularly now. Treats, too. Plus, he wears a collar with bell when he’s outside and is so slow and lazy, any bird would have ample opportunity to fly away.
But I was wrong. Clearly. Nature Canada estimates that cats kill an estimated 200 million birds in this country every year, “compared with 25 million bird deaths due to window collisions,” according to the conservation charity’s website. So if you think Poopsie/Fluffy/Waggles isn’t out there murdering birds, think again. They are.
And so there I was, hovering over this little bird, its body heaving, feathers fluffed out. With the murderous beast locked safely indoors, I phoned and texted until I finally got in touch with Chantal Thiejn at Hobbitstee Wildlife Refuge in Jarvis. Chantal, who founded and runs Hobbitstee 365 days a year, helps to rehabilitate everything from baby birds to snakes to coyotes and deer. She says last year she received and helped nearly 500 animals just from Hamilton Animal Services alone, but she receives animals from all over the GTA and beyond. The refuge’s Facebook page is a fascinating study in local wildlife and how we, as humans, harm them with soccer nets, illegal traps, cars, cats.
Chantal directed me to pick up the bird — a fledgling mourning dove, as it turns out — and place it in a cardboard box lined with paper towel. I was then to take the bird to Animal Services on Dartnall and tell them it was for her. Which I did. The woman who took my information assured me they have Chantal’s number on speed dial.
I phoned Chantal later that day to check on the patient and received good news. Baby Mourning Dove was being treated with medication and would eventually be OK. She didn’t ask for it, but I sent Hobbitstee, which is licensed with the Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestry, a donation to cover the costs of the bird’s care. As it turns out, the refuge runs entirely on donations and volunteers, and Chantal says she doesn’t take a cent in salary. And yet, they’re out there every day, fixing our mistakes and helping the animals we (albeit often unwittingly) harm.
And no, Oscar hasn’t been outdoors since, despite his clawing at the door to get out. It’s just better this way. For everyone.