Cats And Crows

I walked my cat Ada across the street to the pine park in light snow. As soon as we emerged from the house a murder of crows, numbering I'm sure over twenty, scattered and alerted. Ada looked up at them with derision and went about her business.

Just a few of the crows. They were perched across the block and swooping down at Ada.

But the crows were having none of it. They cawed and repositioned, swooping at her several times. She stood on her hind legs when they came close enough. Her tail fur stood on end making a fluffy rope, a look of irritation on her furry little face. They were right to worry. She would catch them if she could.

When it was time go home she trotted back to the house, as if in relief.

Then I brought out the next cat. The crows left the area.

Snow on the next cat: Zelda.