Few people would think a cat could possibly be a tender nurse to young
birds! but such was really the case with a very interesting bird I
possessed some years ago.
A young starling was brought up from the nest by the kind care of our
cook and the cat! Both were equally sympathetic, and pitied the little
unfledged creature, who was by some accident left motherless in his
early youth. Cook used to get up at some unheard-of hour in the morning
to feed her clamorous pet, and then would bring him down with her at
breakfast-time and consign him to pussy's care; she, receiving him with
a gentle purr of delight, would let him nestle into her soft fur for
warmth.
As Dick became feathered, he was allowed the run of the house and
garden, and used to spend an hour or so on the lawn, digging his beak
into the turf, seeking for worms and grubs, and when tired he would fly
in at the open window and career about until he could perch on my
shoulder, or go in search of his two foster-mothers in the kitchen.
His education was carried on with such success that he could soon speak
a few words very clearly. Strangers used to be rather startled by a
weird-looking bird flying in from the garden, and saying, "Beauty dear,
puss, puss, miaow!" But it was still more strange to see Dick sitting on
the cat's back and addressing his endearments to her in the above words.
Pussy would allow him to investigate her fur with exemplary patience,
only objecting to his inquisitive beak being applied to her eyelids to
prize them open when she was enjoying her afternoon nap. Dick's love of
water led him to bathe in most inconvenient places. One morning, when I
returned to the dining-room after a few minutes' absence, I found him
taking headers into a glass filter and scattering the contents on the
sideboard. After dinner, too, he would dive into the finger-glasses with
the same intention, and when hindered in that design would visit the
dessert dishes in succession, stopping with an emphatic "Beauty dear!"
at the sight of some coveted dainty, to which he would forthwith help
himself liberally.
In summer Dick had to resist considerable temptation from wild birds of
his own kind, who evidently made matrimonial overtures to him, but
though he "camped out" for a few nights now and then, he never seemed to
find a mate to his mind, and elected to remain a bachelor and enjoy our
society instead of that of his own kith and kin.
Dick was certainly a pattern of industrious activity, never still for
two minutes. He seemed haunted by the idea that caterpillars and grubs
existed all over the house, and his search for them was carried on under
all possible circumstances--every plait of one's dress, every
button-hole, would be inquired into by his prying little beak in case
some choice morsel might chance to be lurking there. Dick lived for a
few happy years, and then his bathing propensities most unhappily led to
his untimely death. One severely cold day in winter he was missed and
searched for everywhere, and after some hours his poor little body was
found stiff and cold in a water-tank in the stable-yard, where the ice
had been broken. He had as usual plunged in for a bath, and we can only
suppose the intense cold had caused an attack of cramp, so that he could
not get out again, and thus was drowned. Many tears were shed for the
loss of the cheery little bird, who seemed like a bright ubiquitous
sunbeam about the house, and our only consolation was the thought that,
as far as we knew, he had never had a sorrow in his life, and we can
only hope that if there are "happy hunting-grounds" for birds our Dick
may be there, bright and happy still.
[Illustration: FLYING STARLINGS]