Each In His Own Way

We have several bird feeders in the side yard, and a watering station. It makes us a destination for the birds both local and migratory, an avian oasis. During the recent deep snows we were the only source of food around, and the activity was constant. (Except for one period where no songbirds were to be seen, after which there was a neat radial pattern of feathers and blood drops on the snow not far away -- all types of birds are fed here.)

All the bird activity makes it more pleasant and interesting to do dishes; we have something to watch out of the window while scrubbing pots.

The cat also appreciates the view. In warmer weather he has a viewing station, a "hunting blind", under a tall curving clump of grass midway between the two groups of feeders. He rarely goes after the birds, preferring instead to enjoy his concealment and his time on his personal veldt, a small lion. We call it "cat TV".

With the deep snow, his usual spot is just a snow drift among others. But not far away is an area which the ground-feeding juncos have industriously scratched clear in their pursuit of the seed we scatter. The cat has taken to crouching there, between the trunk of the old pear tree and a smaller scrub tree. He is not as well-concealed, and the birds surely know he is there, but it makes for a decent post nonetheless. Sometimes he is alert and twitches at every bird-flit; other times he dozes and only reacts to large movements.

At the base of the pear tree is a flat stone, and upon the stone is a small greyish resin statue of the seated Buddha. The (grey, fluffy) cat's station is close by.

I look out the window, suds to the elbow.

The Buddha sits and prays. The cat sits, and preys.

Each is at peace, in his own way.