The high-rise hummingbird

An important part of a healthy old growth forest are the beasts—those that burrow underground, those that scamper or plod on the surface, and all those that buzz, flitter, or swoop among the tops of the trees. They all contribute to the well-being of the eco-system.

Animals contribute to the well-being of people, too, and this gains significance as people age. Shortly before our retirement a criminal cat moved into our condo. We didn’t invite him. Late one evening our son phoned and said, “Mom, I’m bringing Spencer over. Debby can’t take it anymore.” Our daughter-in-law was allergic to cats but had agreed on keeping Spencer for the sake of the kids who love all sorts of beasts. It was the cat hairs that finally did him in.

So Spencer moved in and we bonded. He was a beautiful golden long-haired beast with a frisky but affectionate nature. As our condo community had rules against pets, except for medical reasons, we knew his stay would probably be short-lived. But, as I say, we became accustomed to each other, and, well, time went by. We renamed him Chiri, which means “cat” in the Quechua language. In other words, we called him Cat.

It’s not as though we were keeping a secret. Chiri loved sunning himself in the window, right in view of our whole community. As nobody said anything, we forgot about legality.

Be sure your sin will find you out. It was inevitable. One day the community association president approached us about our disregard of the rules, but he also suggested a solution. So we talked with our doctor, a good sport with a sense of humor, and she wrote a letter to the association explaining her view that Chiri was good for our health and well-being. That was true, even though we were not sick. The association voted to let him stay.

When we decided to move over to the retirement community where we now live, we made the difficult decision to let him go. Our new apartment, while lovely, was not spacious enough for Chiri’s athletic nature. Plus, cat boxes and small spaces don’t mix well. So we found him a home with friends who could give him both affection and room to romp. Our parting was sad.

The retirement community also has rules that only allow comfort pets, though the definition remains loose. Francie, a friend on the fifth floor (notice the nice alliteration), travels frequently and lets us cat-sit Minou. Minou has lived with us for as long as two weeks, time enough to give us a good cat-fix. Any time I need it, I visit Francie and spend time with Minou.

The most popular comfort pets are small dogs, who come in various colors, shapes and barking sounds. They are not as convenient as cats—dog boxes don’t seem to work—so the owners have to get outside and walk them several times a day (which is possibly as good for their health as the actual dog). Other dogless residents enjoy these creatures. It’s good having them around the place, although dogs provide challenges to communal living.

I wrote this poem a few weeks after we moved in: 

Last night someone’s dog pooped
on the carpet in the hall.
In the morning the unseemly little pile
was still there.
Who did it? Was it Nils or Samantha?
Or did Niko from the fourth floor
come up to visit and leave his calling card?
The forest floor is becoming
a little more biodiverse
than any of us want.

Other undomesticated beasts add to the healthy ecosystem around here. We have resident deer who used to live in the swale in the middle of our meadow. That was before the construction project removed the swale (we hear a parking lot will take its place), thus ejecting the deer. But they seem to have found a new home nearby and still visit us occasionally.

Down in the canyon bordering the main building, beavers built a lovely dam in the creek and occasionally poked their heads out to greet us as we walked the canyon trail. But the dam caused flooding in the winter and had to be removed. Mercifully, the beavers were trapped and transported to a forest. I hope they’re flourishing.

During the pandemic shut-down, a new beast visited us, clear up on the fifth floor. A hummingbird. A rather miraculous hummingbird, we thought. There are no balconies up here, no hanging plants or bird feeders. No trees or flowers grow on the roof. So, what was this guy doing so far above ground? How was he (or she) feeding?

For the past three springs he has been visiting all the north facing windows on the fifth floor (probably not the same hummingbird). Hal and I figure he has discovered bugs in the cracks and crannies of this building and has wanted to keep it secret from his chums.

His appearance each day causes delight. That’s good for my well-being. I guess that makes him an official comfort-bird.

Thank God for the beasts of this forest.