Darlinghurst: Animal Life: Currawong

I popped outside yesterday to run some errands and was walking along Royston Street when a Currawong swooped down passed my head and landed on the road about 2m in front of me. I stopped and looked at the Currawong. It looked at me. 

I raised my hands in a questioning gesture. The bird in turn, moved its pointy little head from side to side - showing off its sharp beak to great effect - and said, ''Don't move, or I'll peck your eyes out.'' 

I assumed the Currawong must have a nest in one of the plane trees, sheltering the street, and I know it's best not to mess with a mother bird. So the Currawong and I were stuck. I wondered if we would be here all day. 

I looked around for the naughty cat, for back-up, but there was no sign of him. In fact, since I wrote about the cat he appears to have been laying low, and I'm wondering if he read my blog-post and took offence. If you are reading this, cat, please know that I do not hate you.

Anyway, it was me and the bird, and I was on my own. 

But then I thought, it's just a bloody small-boned bird, it will back off. So I made a tentative step forward and the Currawong kind of leapt in to the air, flapped its wings in warning and landed back down again. It seemed to be really angry. 

I was again left wondering what to do when a car came round the bend and nearly ran the Currawong over. The bird darted up and flew away.  

When I returned, about 20 minutes later, I had forgotten all about the incident.

The Currawong had not. It swooped down at me again and this time I ran screaming, with my hands covering my head, to my front door. Along the way, I noticed this rather ugly Currawong baby, squawking from a rock in a garden bed and it all made sense. And with the mother bird thinking I had gone, I crept back around the corner and snapped this picture of her baby.

Darlinghurst: Animal Life: Royston Street's Cat

This cat may appear innocent, scratching his ear on the footpath, but be warned: this cat is very naughty. He's always lurking around Royston Street and when I'm leaving home, I'm quite happy to say meow and stop for a chat. But when I'm returning, I dare not even make eye-contact for fear that he will follow me all the way to my door and then slink inside my building. 

It's happened previously and it was rather annoying, because once inside, he refused to leave and I had to chase him up the stairwell, draw him close and then grab him by the scruff and transport him back outside. 

After that episode, I stopped talking to him, so he tried a new tactic. Playing dead:

The first time I saw him lying there like that, still as a piece of wood, I thought he had been hit by a motorbike and rushed to his aid. But when I went to check his pulse, he rolled over with a long meeeooow, stood up and then wiggled his tail in the air, pleased that he had fooled me. Then he followed me to my building and bolted inside when the door was open. Once again I had to find him, grab him and put him back outside. 

These days, I have had enough of his tricks, so when I see him I clap my hands - once, loudly - and watch him run like the clappers back to his own home: