The Birds.

The birds flitter industriously, feeding and preening. The sun illuminates their gleaming feathers, a riot of red, blue, gold and green. Half-camouflaged by the long grass, the cat watches jealously, mesmerised. Without really knowing why, she craves their bright plumage, feels its pull. With her tunnel vision, her eyes are like saucers. She only has eyes for them. She has no thought beyond her desire for possession.

The weeds have grown up thick and the trees and bushes are in full leaf. It’s the perfect time for birds to gather up food and fatten themselves and their families. Youngsters are just leaving the nest. It’s also the perfect time for a cat to strike lucky.

The birds are too trusting. They’ve lived comfortably for far too long, have never needed to fear predators. Their evolution hasn’t programmed them for this new threat. They simply continue about their lives, dancing, swooping, soaring, because it’s what they must do.

The cat watches and waits for her moment, unseen and unheeded. One flies a little too close, and it’s then she pounces. Got it! Now the lifeless form is between her jaws, and she doesn’t care, she only knows instinct, this is her purpose. The first kill of many.

Now it’s easier. Trying different tactics, honing her skills, dispatching her prey with cold, calculated efficiency. She is the perfect killing machine. This is what she was born to do.

There are others too. When her litter is reared, they too will head out into the world to become ruthless killers. She will teach them her skills. With each generation, the machine will be refined, sharpened, perfected.

The people do not mind, or else they are blind to it. After all, the cats kill other vermin, not just birds. They are providing a service. Democratising pest control. And the beautiful feathers make attractive ornaments, after all, far more impressive than those that can be hewn with mere human hands. And so they begin to rely increasingly on the cats. The cats are rewarded, growing strong and fat. The birds are depleted, but really what do they add but a bit of colour? A distraction. An inefficiency.

Some people caution that over-reliance on the cats could have unforeseen consequences. After all, they are wild beasts at heart. They cannot truly be tamed. But those concerns are dismissed, the ones who raise them labelled “enemies of progress”. “You can’t put the genie back in the bottle,” everyone says, without really knowing why.

Without enough birds to harvest it, fruit rots on the trees. Insect populations grow out of control, off-balance. Flies spread diseases. The people become sick. Rats move in, attracted by the rotting food. They sift through filth, they consume filth, they excrete filth. They prey on the nests of the last remaining birds, prizing their nutritious eggs above all. The bird population is in a death spiral.

The cats are emaciated. Although they are unable to feel shame or regret, their numbers dwindle. Without the birds, food is scarce. Humans have long since given up on feeding them. They beg for scraps of food, but all that’s left is the detritus left behind by the rats. The rats have grown too large, too cunning. The cats can no longer catch them, and cannot compete with them. The world is theirs now.

Now there are no birds. Birds no longer spread seeds far and wide, fertilise the earth with their droppings or keep insect populations in harmony. The ecosystem has collapsed. Crops fail. People starve. Through their fear and desperation, they turn on each other, fighting amongst themselves, casting blame, anything but looking inward. With resources now scarce, everything is a competition, and strangers aren’t to be trusted. This land used to thrive, but no longer. It is stripped of nutrients, of comfort, of joy. Some of them start to wonder why they brought the cats here in the first place.