Feathered Folk and Felines

In my brief visit home between end of sports day and home time, I stood at the kitchen window, cup in hand, watching the inhabitants of the garden. I thought they were all of the feathered variety, until glossy black Jack appeared to be in two places at once. Her second instance rapidly became an unknown cat. (Our garden's cat who has been around for years is black and white with an unnaturally shortened tail and so much fear I've never in almost a decade got close up to say hello to him. He's not been around since the hens arrived. I'm not surprised.)

I ought to have recognised the fact sooner: the little birds--sparrows mainly--were doing their damnedest to warn the entire neighbourhood, louder even than when the squirrel was hanging around.

The cat removed itself from the undergrowth sufficiently that I could see it was a kitten, six months, say, at most, and all black with real glittery green eyes: very handsome. He (I got the impression of "he" tho' no visible proof) carefully explored the garden, even setting foot in the chicken run. He ignored the clamour of the small birds and barely gave a glance at the larger ones. He didn't get too close either.

The hens just stood, necks craned, heads on one side and stared, immobile. Absolutely quiet, which, bearing in mind Jack's vocabulary and garrulity, was disconcerting. I imagine they stayed that way until the kitten left (which was after I had to go to fetch my own little kitten). They needn't have worried about him: either was bigger and at least as well armed: those beaks are quite sharp and immensely swift and accurate.

I wonder if he'll be back.