Indian myna: A small bird with a big attitude
· Citizen
I used to think that Indian mynas were the bullies of the bird world. Until one appointed himself as a security guard in my garden.
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Not to deter burglars and not for pest control. It apparently hates cats. I do not own a cat, but since I moved into this house, the neighbourhood cats have been a great irritation.
Not only do they come into my kitchen and eat my senior dog’s food when I am busy in the garden, but they bring their romantic choirs to my rooftop at night.
Cats are natural nomads, the cat owners replied to my complaints on our local WhatsApp group.
I vowed to borrow a cat trap from a friend, but before that could happen, a myna came to my rescue.
My garden is any cat’s dream holiday resort. No big dogs, sun-warmed paving, birds to harass and just enough plants to destroy for entertainment.
The one orange cat started arriving daily, stretched luxuriously, and plopped down next to the pool as if it owns the place.
Then came a big storm a few weekends back and, after that, the myna appeared.
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At first, I thought the bird was just a noisy, nosy visitor. Mynas are not known for subtlety. They do not chirp; they scream, even when they appear happy.
But one morning, I noticed something extraordinary: the moment the dratted cat slipped through the gate, the myna sounded the alarm.
The sharp, offended squawk startled the cat. Then the myna swooped. Not aggressively. Professionally.
It dive-bombed at the cat, flapping wildly, shouting what I assume were deeply personal insults about the cat’s ancestry.
The cat bolted. The myna landed triumphantly on the fence and yelled after it, just in case the message hadn’t landed.
This routine happened daily. The myna patrolled my garden like a tiny, feathered bouncer.
Imagine… a creature with claws and teeth surrenders completely to something the size of a mango with anger issues.
The best part? The myna had a good memory and knew when the cat would appear.
Come to think of it, I have not seen the cat actually enter the garden in weeks. It walks past my house now, pretending it never wanted to come in anyway.
I, for one, welcome our new feathered overlord. My plants are safe. My garden is cat-free.
And somewhere nearby, I think a ginger cat is in therapy, haunted by a very loud bird with a personal vendetta.
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