Oliver Twist, Catbird
BY ISABELLA McC. LEMMON
O
n July 9, 1898, we caught a young Catbird. He had left the nest the day before, and had then eluded all our efforts, but by morning a pouring rain had removed his objections to captivity, and a very wet, bedraggled little Catbird was established in the big cage. He soon stopped trying to get out, and seemed quite contented—except occasionally when the old birds heard him calling for food and came to the rescue. But that was carefully guarded against, and as his voice lost its baby tone they left him in peace.
A name was quickly given, the frequency and great size of his meals promptly gaining for him the title of 'Oliver Twist.' Worms, currants, goose-, rasp-, black-, and huckleberries, bits of bread soaked in milk, all went down, but the fruit seemed somewhat more acceptable. On July 16, the amount of food was greatest: 43 earthworms and 81 berries between 7 a. m. and 6.50 p. m.
As the different berries ripened he gave up the early kinds and accepted the new ones most eagerly, elderberries especially. These last he ate by the bunch—indeed one need only walk past a patch of the bushes when the fruit is ripe, to appreciate a Catbird's fondness for them.