Probably a branch from the holly bush scraping the window— though it sounded more like fingernails scratching a chalkboard. I continued reading the morning paper, not bothering to look up. Not until I felt his presence. A hovering mockingbird peered in the window at me. I peered back.
Ha— I won! . . . smiling as he backed off, flying onto a holly branch. I returned to the news article, but before locating where I’d left off, he’d returned— feathers fluttering, beak pecking the window, beady eyes glaring at me as I sat on the sofa.
A mocking bird with attitude! He’s gotta go. I jumped up, waved the newspaper— “Get outta here!”
Probably sees his reflection, I thought when he returned a third time. Thinks it’s another bird. I pulled down the shade and stood back. Within seconds, flapping shadows danced against the blinds accompanied by more thumping and scraping.
Damn bird. I looked around the room for backup, not sure what it should be. Then a thought— I opened the front door and removed the Halloween witch decoration. Hanging her on the window latch, I pulled the shades back down and drew the curtains.
Some might call it tenacity, others stupidity. But the mockingbird attacked that window interminably all day. I hung wind chimes and tied streamers on the holly bush, hosed the window with water, researched the internet for suggestions. Perhaps after dark, he’ll leave, forget about my home, get confused and go to a neighbor’s tomorrow. Better yet, maybe fly south for the winter. He thumped and scratched again. Or break his stupid neck. Night approached with the same constancy as the mocking bird.
I loved Harper Lee’s novel To Kill A Mockingbird. Atticus Finch’s warned his children Jem and Scout that it was a sin to kill a mockingbird because they hurt no one and only bring pleasure. Wrong.
Throughout the night I listened to the scratching and thumping. Tired and desperate, I lay in bed and plotted. If he’s not gone by tomorrow . . . “Forgive me, Atticus, I will sin.”
(There may be a Part 2 to this entry.)
Poor little bird..it’s just trying to fly south for the winter but your house is in the way!
It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived. ~Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, Chapter 11
Except my dad went to war and doesn’t necessarily hate guns…still the bravest man who ever lived!