Capital robin

Of course, I did not come to London without Bobbit. He features on my laptop desktop and screensaver, so every time I paused for long enough – and at the start that was, frankly, most of the time – I saw him. My sister had also sent me a fluffy robin in lieu of flowers or a charity donation when she heard of his demise.

The loss of Son of Bob and Son of Son of Bob (AKA Grandson of Bob AKA Bobbit’s Baby AKA Tengu) has hardened my heart towards felines. Not against individual cats. I see a cat in the street and I’m all “Kitty! Kitty! Here, Kitty! What a pretty Kitty!” but I find my jaw clenching and toes curling when I hear the rhapsodies fellow animal enthusiasts go into when talking of human-cat relations – because they don’t mean indoor cats, as a rule (because keeping cats indoors is, probably, cruel – like caging a lion, or bonsai-ing a tree [Er… Don’t you do both? – Ed.] [Never said I wasn’t a complete and utter hypocrite, though, did I? – Crone]). No, they mean free-living unpaid assassins. Look, I am not exaggerating. Cats are the third biggest cause of local and total extinction, beaten only by direct human causes – hunting, collecting, habitat loss - and dogs. Or at least I am pretty sure that’s what the Unnatural Companions book said. I’ll have mentioned this in a previous post. Cats kill millions of birds a year. There are already more chickens on the planet that the total of all wild birds combined. The loss of insects, a possible 70% fall in 50 years, has hit them hard. And there are more egg-predators around – corvids and squirrels and rats, so the last thing they need is a specialist killer with time on her paws and a desire to entertain herself in the chase.

So, yeah, when people who claim to love animals hold up cats as a species in need of rescuing (though I DO of course understand the hardships of abandoned cats and unwanted litters), I sort of think, “Right, go for the fluffy cutesy kittens with big eyes that you’re familiar with and forget about the dunnocks and wrens. Don’t give them a passing thought as your well-fed cat army patrols the neighbourhood. Fuckwit.” [A bit harsh? – Ed.] [Well…. I’m in the anger stage of grieving. – Crone] [Hasn’t that theory, the sequential stages of grieving, been discredited? – Ed.] [Yes, but it’s a handy excuse. – Crone]

Before this stint at work, I purchase some plants the fragrance of which is meant to deter cats. The three plants came in a box and as I was opening the box both my cats were scrabbling to get in as though the contents were pure catnip. Once in pots in the garden by the ground feeders, they were dutifully dug up by the squirrels. The little plants, whatever they were called, may not fulfil the task I had in mind for them. Instead, I will be growing peanuts.

And yes, I appreciate my hypocrisy in liking grey squirrels when the poor reds have left these parts. Except that the greys are not harming any reds round here now and they are statistically less of an issue to wild birds than are cats, likewise corvids. Plus, they eat to survive, not for fun. I have less of an issue with a stray cat killing birds to survive – and I know that’s crazy, and I don’t regard the house cats as “bad”… I just wish people would think more deeply than, “I want a cat to purr on my lap but not to shit in the house. And when Tommy’s outside, he can have his fun, so I don’t need to entertain him.”