The Mockingbirds Of Spring

Mockingbirds of Spring

I like to think I'm tough. I want to think that when the shit goes down, I mean really goes down; I will step it up and take my rightful place amongst the heroes of my past. The line which carries through us all yet only a few adhere. I have my own thoughts on why human beings are not always brave, why we choose self preservation over honor or to protect another. It's easier. So you have to understand how shocked I was to watch the mockingbirds of spring. I was smoking some herb on an early afternoon just out on my porch. I liked to watch the mockingbirds flutter here and there. Husband and wife would be scooting around all day, grabbing food and delivering it to their young. They kept me present with their constant chirping. It was a real treat. I'd been in an office pushing papers for nearly two years and on the second day of Spring March 24th I kicked over the waste bucket, elbow struck my computer and chastised my assistant on the importance of deep breathing. Needless to say I was canned. And that's OK. I picked up a side job at a local restaurant bussing tables and occasionally waiting. Fine by me. So it was going well. I guess. I had time to sit out and smoke, enjoy the sun. And for some reason those birds just made it so much better.
The one thing that I did not enjoy was that my neighbor, Elise, had an orange and red cat named Buster who spent his days wandering around the grand birch which took residence upon my front lawn. Since it was my lawn I had every right to spray that fur ball right in the face with my garden hose. And I was tempted. Believe me. I have one of those spray gun handles which would be perfect to blast him with right in the eyes. Yet I was trying to bang Elise's sister, Debbie, and if I blinded Buster then it would be back to the Spice Channel for sure. So I just decided to keep my eye on him. There were always a few carefully placed dirt clods next to my porch swing in case of an emergency. Cats are fast but I have a good arm. I wasn't too worried. So when I saw Buster strut his way onto my lawn, his bushy red tail waving around in the air I figured on regulating on him if he got aggressive. And he knew it. He knew I was different. People always let animals get away with things. They figure
"Oh, it's just a cat, it can't be diabolical. It only possesses the qualities of purring and shitting in my clothe basket when I don't feed him his can of Fancy Feast on time." 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a hard ass. I like animals. I wasn't the kid growing up who lit “Whiskers” on fire, burned ants or ripped the tails off of blue belly lizards for shits and giggles. My father taught me that everything deserved respect, from your neighbor to his dog. But just like your neighbor, if he starts pissing on your lawn, you have every right to shoe him in the ass. And I kept this in mind as my mockingbirds’ wails began to reach high pitch level. They hovered above their nest, their young ones’ chirp chirping all the while as their folks seemed to be breaking the panic button on the remote control. I watched Buster like a hawk. He looked over at me and I can swear to you he smiled. He was mocking me. OK it was three o'clock in the afternoon and I had been blazing it since noon, but I saw the edges of that little mouth curl upwards. With the shining glint of his fangs piercing my vision in the afternoon sun he was daring me to do something. 
"Come on stoner. Do it! Throw that dirt at me! And as you're yanking on your chain till the wee hours of the morning I'm going to be tap dancing on our fence, laughing at you as you cry yourself to sleep. Alone!"
I hate Buster.
But what was I gonna do? I felt bad for the Mockingbirds but they didn't know how hot Debbie was and they certainly didn't know that good looking redheads were a rarity in these parts. Despite the fact that I was lonely and desperate I wasn't going to allow Buster to climb the tree and snatch them up, though. I was on watch. He would be kept to land only. There was no way I was going to let him get airborne. At least this was the plan.
At about 4:00 I got pretty hungry. I just bought a box of Rice Krispies and I could hear the elves calling my name from the kitchen. As I was pouring the last droplets of milk into the bowl I heard the intense screeching of my friends. Like a bird version of Jane Goodall I sprinted out of my kitchen, clutching onto my Rice Krispies snack, crackle, popping out into my front yard. I knew it was Buster. But I wasn't ready for what I witnessed. Just 13 feet from me Buster was climbing the mighty birch only a few feet from the nest. Out of the corner of my eye I saw this thunder bolt of brown shoot from the heavens like a rocket. Mr. Mockingbird jet proportioned himself straight towards Buster and his open jaws. With the love that I imagine only a parent can have Mr. Mockingbird flew straight into the open gape of Buster's mouth never to be seen again. Buster snapped the gate close. His body jolted a little bit and I hoped he was going to lose his grip and come crashing down, snapping each of his vertebrae upon the sand-stones encircling the birch tree. But he didn't. He's a cat. He's got more balance than Lao Tzu. And with that Buster looked back at me, then soared into the air and landed with ballerina like agility onto the ground.
He skipped away so quickly that I didn't have time to react. What should I have done? Drop my Rice Krispies? Throw the bowl at him? Double back for a dirt clod? No, no, no. It was too late. I know when to react and when not to. Sometimes Nature has to take its course no matter how nasty it is. But I have to tell you my heart ached. Debbie has got ass and Debbie's smile could buckle the knees of almost any man but even a night with her at that moment could not drain the sorrow which was backing up in my throat and swelling in my eyes. I'm not sentimental, but shit! That's love if I ever saw it. 
 Not knowing exactly what to do I just stood there, eating my bowl of cereal in the middle of the lawn. Yeah, I probably looked awkward standing there but I was paralyzed. At least until I heard the cry of the birds again. I watched Mrs. Mockingbird flap her wings nervously around the nest preoccupied with feeding her young. She seemed oblivious to the death of her husband; no chasing after Buster or sad bird lament over his murder. None of that. She just went back to her routine and so I decided to do the same. Although I felt bad for her Mr. Mockingbird I was content to see how quickly the birds were able to adjust and keep going. Mrs. Mockingbird seemed to work two times faster, playing the role of provider and protector. Somehow this made me feel better. It was as if life would go on for them and eventually all of us. Life was all about adjustment I suppose.

The next morning I went for a run and passed the nest. All was well with Mrs. Mockingbird on watch. I saw Buster a few houses up the street. He was clawing away at a tall sycamore. With a glare of dare he seemed to be trying to tell me something. As he struck his claws against the shredded bark, sharpening the swords for slaughter, I seemed to sense a forewarning in that cunning smile. Yes, cats can smile. At least Buster does.
I decided to run a short one. Perhaps that wasn't a good idea and then again maybe it was. The order must continue despite the pain and our unwillingness to accept it. And so as I was coming up on my lawn and Buster was pole vaulting his way up towards breakfast, I wasn't too surprised to see Mrs. Mockingbird torpedo her way towards her demise. I yelled out as loud as I could thinking that perhaps I could scare him off but it was useless. Some things are just written. As she entered his mouth a sole chirp sounded off in the distance. With that Buster sealed his jaws. He peeped his head around the mighty birch and saw me instantly. His yellow and black eyes narrowed in on me. Unfortunately he was between me and my dirt clods. 

Now I like to think of myself as a man with a healthy sexual appetite. As a teenager my time was divided between taking three showers a day and bird dogging whenever I could (activities that have since not lagged). Yet as I stood, ready in the oncoming warmth of that fresh crisp morning, Debbie and her tight ass was the farthest thing from my mind. Actually, Debbie was replaced. In her stead was an image of Buster skinned and roasting on a fire with a Fiji apple stuffed deep into his throat. I knew he was quick and extremely versatile in his movements, but I had rage. It was an emotion that drove man. When on a north bound trip rationality got off in Sacramento, rage took you to Vancouver. In a flash, which spoke volumes of his ninja like qualities, Buster took advantage of my emotions. Through his superb ability he was able to perceive my state of mind. It was filled with torrid feelings of anger and regret, instead of being as placid and calm as a lake. Taking advantage of this cognitive insight, Buster made a dash for the fence. With nothing in my hands I was unable to knock him down or skirt his speed. With a measure of about 23 feet to the fence I made off for that killer as fast as I could. His head down, Buster charged forward, trying to get to the redwood planks faster than I. But I had passion. And I had revenge on my side. These were justifications to push my out of shape body to its limit, and then beyond, as I quickly closed in on Buster. With five feet to spare we both made a leap for the fence. Coming in from his left side I was able to bat down his face with a heavy hand. I felt his whiskers fold into my palm and his evil meow sent shock waves through my system.
Crashing to the green grass of the lawn, I immediately rose to grab Buster who was sprawled out with a limp paw twisted towards the sky. In that moment I pitied him. Slowly rising Buster seemed like he was badly hurt. With a sense of compassion, that I never thought I would have for him, I knelt to scoop him up and take his tiny body next door. But I forgot about the ruthlessness of cats. As my helping hands were about to encircle his furry little frame Buster pounced on me. His claws went straight for my face and before I knew it I was on my back fighting for my looks. With loud screeches and huffs of energy we tore at each other. I was able to roll over and I proceeded to suffocate him, pressing all my weight as I felt his skeleton slowly crumble underneath mine.
"Ryan! Stop it, please! Stop"
I could hear the yelling and screaming of female voices behind me, but I never looked up. I knew who it was yet I didn't care. And while Debbie and Elise grabbed at my limbs, trying to rip me from that homicidal freak's limp body, I still tried to extinguish his life. Realizing that this was now the closest I would ever get to touch Debbie, I brilliantly pulled her into the mix by tripping her and then rolling over with Buster as sneakily as I could. Debbie and I began wrestling, locked in a strange dance of aggression and regret. Unable to hold Buster down any longer, I let him go, both physically and emotionally. He ran off and I remember being quite impressed with his speed despite the beating he took. My attention was now focused on my fantasy and I had simply replaced one sense of guilt with another. On the soft bed of grass Debbie and I tumbled around for another few seconds, me giggling like a small child and her hysterically yelling
"What are you doing!? Ryan, Stop!"
I rummaged my hands over her body as slyly as I could; trying to make it seem as if I was assisting her in rising yet I think the gig was up. Elise simply stood back in shock and amazement as her sister easily pried herself from my now weakened and effortless grip. I had given up. Saddened and overwhelmed by the loss of my mockingbirds, infuriated by Buster's warpath and now disappointed in myself for losing any chance with Debbie I curled up in a ball and began to weep. It must have been a sorrowful sight. Between sobs of
"I'm sorry Mr. Mockingbird. I was hungry."
And
"I love Rice Krispies."
a small group of neighbors gathered around me. The words "Pathetic" and "Weirdo" were continually uttered but I kept my eyes closed unwilling to face anyone. I figured on calling animal control to pick up the fledglings once everyone had left. I wasn't too sure about their survival yet in the quiet of my mind I envisioned them safely flying around a wildlife sanctuary. The whole thing wore me out.
When I could hear no one else around I opened my eyes. The light of day blinded me for a few short seconds but I thought I made out a silhouette on my porch. It looked to be a woman. I kept blinking my eyes, trying to focus my attention on the figure. Upon rising I realized it was Debbie and all my courage seemed to flow out of me in that second.
"What in the hell was that about?"
"I can explain but I don't know if it will help."
"Probably not but give it a try."
I always liked her sense of humor. And she was going to need it.

The End