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Even though Zorro was a house cat, he still had the same instincts that every cat before him for a thousand years understood. He was just not sure what to do about them.

Rocky cocked his head one more time and jumped on top of the table that had become his command post. A ground bird, I learned that roadrunners often seek height in order to see movement at a distance. When nothing appeared to be moving, off he went.

Then one day when Rocky appeared and I called, "Zorro, come!" he not only ran over to the window, but threw himself against the glass and began to pound on the glass with his paws. Rocky reciprocated by jumping back at Zorro on the other side of the glass. I quickly realized that their curiosity had turned into a boxing match! If music had been playing, it would have been "Flight of the Bumble Bees" so comical was their rhythmic dance.

Eventually, Rocky tired of banging against the glass, and got back to business on top of our table. He sat there for the longest time that day. I wondered if he was posturing as any conquering predator would after battle. Self-satisfied, he proudly perched on his table surveying his territory.

What did my handsome guy, Zorro, do? He came over to mommy, of course, for lots of praise and head rubs. After all, hadn't he protected his turf?

Thank goodness, I thought to myself, knowing they would never meet without glass between them. Because the truth was that Rocky was larger and more ferocious than Zorro and was quite capable of seriously hurting him with those sharp claws and deadly beak. These birds survive and thrive in the harshest climate in North America for a good reason.

Fortunately, Zorro didn't have to know the truth. He just needed to know that mommy was proud of him. "Good boy," I murmured, stroking his head in the way he preferred. "Good boy."

Learn more about this author, Diane Quinn .
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