Love a cat, love a lion

Shannon is with me on my morning rounds. Opening the trunk to help me dish canned food into plastic bowls, she observes a new canister. “Why are there goldfish crackers in your trunk?” she asks.

I tell her it’s for my new friend, Robinson the crow. (The Robinson brothers were core of the Black Crowes, one of my favorite bands.) Right on cue, he swoops down, a symphony of flapping wings and guttural caws, and lands in front of my car, perching on a fencepost. She gasps at his beauty – the thick beak, sharp eyes and shining black feathers – and giggles at his clucking hello. But when I ask her if she wants to help me give him a snack, she freezes. “He could hurt me!” she murmurs, wrapping her five-year-old arms around her slim shoulders.

I laugh. “Come on,” I told her. “He is just as sweet as a cat. Just… different.”

Indeed, I’ve been on a steep learning curve since Robinson appeared. Crows and ravens are simply amazing: one of the smartest birds in the world, they are one of the only four species (including humans) who can craft tools. They have been observed using cars in traffic to crack nuts, by laying them on the road at the red light and waiting for a car to roll over them! They mate for life – something most humans can’t succeed in. Their sideways hippity-hop is comically endearing. And they remember human faces – hectoring people they don’t like and pursuing a bond with those they do. Lucky me, I’m one.

Just a week or so after I first interacted with Robinson across the street, he discovered where I live! I heard his guttural caw-caw outside, opened the screen door to my deck and there he was on the roof looking down at me. Since then, I’ve found him on my railing, just a few feet from me, and to reward him I put out some stale Cheerios, which he gulped like they were candy, all the while observing me with head cocked.

I think he is beautiful, and although he has yet to deliver a shiny trinket to me (something many crows do) our bond is becoming profound.

A short while ago there was talk about recent proposed law in my town that would ban feeding both crows and cats – solely because of an argument between neighbors. One fed crows and the other fed cats… and both hated the other species. There have also been suggestions on neighborhood websites that ferals be exterminated… by people who love songbirds passionately. And of course there is the long-standing competition over which is better, dogs or cats?

None of it makes sense to me. If you love an animal – and take it deeply into your heart – how could you love its species but despise another? Aren’t animals all related in their innocence and lack of cruelty that marks humans as the most flawed of species? And aren’t we all interconnected? 

Admittedly, this belief has been tested in the past when misfortune has befallen my strays. Twice I’ve found the cadavers of cats that I had just fed the day before – cats I loved, if from a distance – that had clearly been the target of a predator like a coyote or mountain lion. I’ll never forget being in angry tears about one of these occurrences, and told my friend Carrie I hoped they’d catch and at least deport to the hills whichever predator did this. But Carrie, a longtime rescue guru of mine, asked if I didn’t feel a bit better about it knowing that whatever large mammal killed my cat needed food, too? And was perhaps even a mama looking to feed her young?

That brought it home to me. No mountain lion or coyote is cruel or hunts for sport. I needed to try and love and find compassion for them, even if their hunting upset me and my life. And the truth is, if I had seen that mountain lion strolling down the street I’d been awed by its magnificence. It was only because it hurt me indirectly that I wanted it punished, and that’s not fair. If you love animals you have to accept their primal nature.

Take Robinson. His occasional arrival on my deck causes the songbirds to scatter in a panic away from my feeder, though I’ve never seen him attack one. I suppose he could, and I would hate it if he hurt a songbird, but I would forgive and love him just the same. It’s just a crow being a crow.

Shannon grabs a fistful of goldfish crackers – his favorite – and tosses them on the sidewalk. She squeals with delight as Robinson swoops down to within a few feet of her, and begins to peck away. I don’t take her to church and tread lightly on lecturing about life lessons, but I’m pleased that she is learning that animals – all animals – are worthy of respect.