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It was a lazy summer afternoon, and my cat Prissy and I were in the backyard contentedly lying in the sun. Suddenly a large Mockingbird swooped down out of the sky and bumped into my cat, then flew to an overhead branch to screech in protest of the cat's presence. Prissy fled, seeking solace beneath the tablecloth that covered the picnic table. I didn't think too much of it until Prissy finally ventured out, only to be attacked again! This time she ran into the Snowball bush and hid. I have to admit that she made a beautiful picture with her furry face peering out from the brilliant blue flowers. But I was mad now. My poor cat shouldn't have to hide out in her own yard, especially from a bird. I ran inside and got my grandson's water gun. The bird simply dodged the water and flew from branch to branch, determined to get rid of Prissy. I took Prissy inside. Later in the day she and I were sitting on the front porch swing when the bird found us and attacked again. In seconds my husband, disturbed by the ruckus, burst through the front door Rambo style, with an even bigger water gun. This did not impress the bird or persuade it to leave, but it gave me a good laugh. The bird attacks went on for about two weeks. I didn't know what to do. I love birds, but I was getting some pretty mean thoughts about this one. Yesterday evening I happened to notice that it was quiet again on the front porch. No bird. I glanced across the street and noticed a smaller version of the Mockingbird sitting on a fence, spreading and closing it's wings as if exercising. I glanced around and saw the parent birds, calm and sweet as we've come to know birds to be. I smiled and realized that I'd experienced one of Nature's most beautiful moments...and realized the love and dedication that goes along with parenting 