Bill and the Linnets

 The only thing orthodox about my father was his politics.  No, not even that.  He was registered Republican, but he disliked intensely every office holder, regardless of party.  At least he was consistent.  Every Democrat was a “known Communist.” Anyway, when I saw a very substantial edifice rising in our back yard, I asked my mother (not Dad) what the structure was to be, she replied, “Canaries.”

Yorkshire Canaries

I said I didn't know Dad even liked them.  “I didn't either,” she conceded. “These will be Norwiches and Yorkshires.”

“Oh,” I said, meaning “Don't fill me in.”

Norwich Canary

I was relieved that I hadn't asked Dad, as I'd thought such were only dogs.  I'd learned to be careful about things like that.  Some time before I'd seen him sinking two deep holes in our backyard while six telephone pole cross arms lay to the side. I asked him what it was for, and he'd said, “Office work is sedentary.”  It hadn't been until I saw him doing flyaways off the gym bar that he'd erected that it became evident what the connection was between telephone pole cross arms and “sedentary."

 

Eventually, “Norwiches” and “Yorkshires” meant a substantial aviary about 8' by 8'.  (And, much later, a nice little cabin for me, the first privacy I'd ever had). The hut couldn't keep the birds year around because San Francisco's climate wasn't all that great for little semi-tropic birds in an unheated hut. They were eventually removed to an area in the garage where they got triple the space, and I got the ex aviary.

Bill

The Yorkshires and Norwiches were big, and they didn't sing.  Bill, the black cat with a white tipped tail and white apron, had no interest in them, probably because they were downstairs, and he preferred upstairs in the kitchen and living room. He liked to curl around  the little cage where the small, green “real” canary sang and scattered its bath water on him.

 

Green Canary

Bill was born under our cellar stairway, after which his mama vanished.  He was de facto lord of the house (and the whole neighborhood).  Bill made quite a show of pretending that the green canary wasn't there.  The canary did the same with him.  So, Yorkshires and Norwiches, or not, life looked to continue to be relatively serene....well, for a week, or so.

Linnet

I usually left my bedroom window at the back of the house ajar. It faced the ocean, and I could hear the surf more clearly. That was sufficient for a linnet couple which decided the slight opening was my invitation for them to  establish their family beside my bed.  They selected the notch where my bedroom dresser mirror connected to the supports, then created a nest. 

The first two days they stole stuff from around the room. Then they cruised the house.  They were not fussy. Paper, an eraser, hair, lint, a shoelace, a few pieces from the lot outside, even a toothpaste cap. When my mother brought in a saucer of water and some canary seed, they quit leaving  the house at all.

Linnet

Nor did they fear Bill.  Early on, when he entered my room, they swooped him; but when he didn't even look up, they left off. When their eggs hatched, they screamed at Bill for a while. But Bill was a good actor, and they stopped threatening  him as long as he stayed away from my dresser.

There was only one “incident.”  Once, my mother said, she heard a terrible to-do in the living room.  On going there, she saw that the male linnet had entered the green canary's cage.  Bill stood, back arched, hissing at the linnet.  The linnet was screeching right back at him. My mother believed it was a linnet version of laughing in Bill's face.

       

The next spring, when a second pair of linnets sneaked into our home, Dad tried to inveigle the pair to nest in the aviary in the basement.  They were insulted.  The moment escape was available, they left the basement and took up residence in my sister's room.  So, until I left home for college, and long after Dad had put the aviary to rest, we had self-invited linnet  families stomping on our newspapers,  pecking at our ears when reading, and generally making life miserable for Bill.