RIP John Cicada

Just because my yard is mostly concrete doesn't mean that Erin and I don't get to experience nature. This morning I walked out of my building to the smell of fresh air and the sound of a cicada in distress. Don't be alarmed, my overwhelming concern for insects, especially insects big enough to be culinary delights in some countries, spiked my senses and I spotted the giant bug across the parking lot. What I also scoped was the source of the Whisky Drinker's (that's Australian for Cicada) anguish: a freaking Mockingbird. Ah, nature, so peaceful and relaxing. I'm so glad I got to start my morning witnessing a war between a bird and a bird-sized bug. This bird must have been hungry too because he was going at it. Except, in typical Mockingbird fashion, he let the cicada bounce all over the ground making a distorted buzzing sound. Not the normal sound that these bugs make, but one much deeper in tone...I'm pretty sure I saw that bird laugh too. Soon the sound was no more, and Mr. John Cicada (clever, huh?) met his maker...or something like that.

That reminds me...last night after I took Foster for a walk, during which the two of us had to dodge dive-bombing bats...again, isn't nature wonderful..., I came back to the condo and there was a dark, shadowy figure perched on the overhang/balcony of the front entrance of my building. Hmmm, I wondered, what could that be? I'll tell you what it was...it was a hunter. Not a hunter like Billy Bob who wears camo and shoots squirrels for dinner, but a hunter of souls, a demon you might say. It's true! There was a cat sitting on the overhang to the building. How did he get there? Magic...I'm pretty sure this cat was a sorcerer. What was he doing up there? Stalking. Yes, he was stalking prey. Looking for weak souls to gobble up at his every desire. This cat glared, I mean GLARED, at Foster and me as we walked under him to get inside to safety. Again, not to worry, I was more than ready to punt the sucker if he came flying down from his pinnacle of doom.

Which also reminds me...last year, when Erin and I lived downtown, I was walking to work and saw a hawk swoop down from the sky and snatch a squirrel right off the sidewalk. What!? Where am I living? Wild Alaska? I just want to get to work without stepping in squirrel guts. Can I?

-An Ode to the Wild, by Jeremy Morin