Finch Wars

Not having the good sense to know the difference between brave and reckless, the kitten goes into stealth mode and steals up on the little dachshund who is peacefully sleeping in the corner where he keeps his toys. I watch her peer around the corner of the loveseat, her rear end quivering like jello, and then she trills a warning and pounces.

It's the trill that gives her away, of course. He comes awake like a thunderbolt, all false fury and righteous indignation, and chases her out of the sun room, through the bedroom, into the dining room and finally to the kitchen where she leaps onto the counter, out of his reach. He gives a soft but firm Woof! in her general direction, then after a brief stop at the water bowl, trots back into the sun room, rearranges his toy collection and goes back to sleep, his head resting protectively on Lambchop, his favorite. It could have been his gentle snoring that caught her attention, or her natural curiosity but my money's on her need to disrupt any quiet moment. She's a born stalker, an intrepid instigator, a trouble maker who thrives on mischief and mayhem, what the 60's establishment liked to label an outside agitator. And she's very, very good at it.

Lately though, she's been getting back a little of her own. A pair of what I think are finches, has taken up residence in the azaleas outside of the sun room windows. They're pretty birds with their soft muted red and brown coloring, but they're highly territorial, surprisingly aggressive and quite loud. They chatter constantly, run off other birds and even chase and attack the squirrels that play in the crepe myrtles. They hover and flutter and dart about, scraping their wings and bodies against the glass and driving the kitten to distraction with their antics and the noise. And they're fearless - witness the precise and strategically carried out air strikes against the neighborhood cats - or the innocent shih-tzu next door, tag teamed with their daredevil manoevers so often that he cringes at the sight of them and runs yelping for the shelter of his garage. Shades of Alfred Hitchcock.

The kitten watches all this with intense fascination and I'm sure, no small measure of frustration.

I think it makes her little kamikaze self try harder.

If she watches long enough and learns to fly, it won't surprise me a bit.