I have so trained my cat, Zip, that she thinks it is as wicked to look at a bird as she does to climb on the table, and never does either. Peter and Phoebe seemed to know that they had nothing to fear from her; and, when sitting on the little white eggs, their bright eyes would peep over the nest at Zip, sitting or napping in the easy chair below. When the young birds arrived, the parents would fly back and forth feeding them, without showing any more fear of the cat than they did of me.
While busy in the house one day, my attention was attracted by a loud tapping at the window, and on looking up I saw Phoebe apparently in great distress. She would fly at the window, striking the glass with her bill, circle round, fly back again, and tap, as though trying to attract my attention. Upon my appearance at the door, she flew toward the nest and, pausing on the wing, as a Kingfisher will poise over the water when seeing a fish, uttered sharp cries, fluttering her wings all the while, and telling me in bird language of her trouble. There sat a cat on the chair just below the nest, but it was not Zip. She had taken no other cat into her confidence, hence her alarm. When I drove the strange cat away, she quieted down and administered to the wants of her family as usual.
This little incident seems to show that birds become so accustomed to their environments that they know each member of the family, even to the dog and cat, and that they possess a certain degree of reasoning power.
One day later in the season, when they were raising the second family, my attention was again attracted by the same cries. A pair of my tame Pigeons, looking for a place to build, had lighted on the cornice over the door not far from the nest, and both Peter and Phoebe were trying to drive them away. They would dart almost up to them, all the while snapping their bills vigorously, as though catching a succession of insects, but before the Pigeons could strike with their wings, would dart away, and like a flash be back again. They did not seem to be calling on me for assistance, but were themselves fighting for what they considered their rights, and evidently did not think Pigeons "as harmless as Doves." The warfare continued at intervals for several days, until the Pigeons decided it was an unpleasant locality for a future home, and retired to the barn.