The Mourning Doves

There are two ring-necked doves in the Cypress tree in the back garden. They are mad with sex. Soon they will start building a nest when the female feels her uterus fill with eggs. I am not sure they will stay though, because the neighborhood cats are relentless in their pursuit. This twilight I heard the cry of a bird in the holly underbrush. I couldn't see anything in the gloaming. But I have a feeling something is dead or injured. In that hour of twilight, I saw in the back garden, one robin on the fence, one unknown small brown bird with a speckled chest in the bird bath and the doves.

Sometimes the culprit is my cat and I hate him for awhile. And in a way, it all comes back to mankind. You can say, "But you feed them well" and I can reply, "yes, I do..." even though the cat lived here when we moved in and after seeing mouse scut in the silverware drawer, I understand why the people before us had a cat. Still, I love birds and hate the death element. But the cat food sold in America is by and large made in China and just plain bad for the cats my vet tells. He tells me, in particular, "Don't feed them the fish flavors." And so I don't. But we are not well-off and do our best to give him good food without poisoning him. None of the cat foods seem to be healthy for cat. I have given him chicken's livers cooked in butter. No better luck. And when he makes a kill, he doesn't always finish it, I suppose because he is used to...I don't know what. Lately he eats the new flavor of dry cat food my son brought over when we were out of any.

It is the beauty of the doves that make me cry when I hear the small cry and the heavy silence. I can find no answer. I told my husband, when this cat dies, I want no more cats. No more "fall in love with the fur against my cheek in the night and the little paws pushing against the heat of my belly in delight." I am weary with grief. Too many men, too many cats...