What a way to start the day, cat twitching on my bedhead as it surveys the shrubbery and a new bird flits about in the purpose made habitat garden that has been growing for 30 years.

It’s the second time in the past two months an avian incursion has been prompted by thoughts. This one when wandering in the bush, the wondering was last night, the other was when the local whip bird responded to a request for a close up and personal encounter. Firstly last night.

A beautiful bush track, the best bush along the Point, it still has its biodiverse understory, the native grasses and the most glorious Gahnia grove on the sandstone saddle that makes it a special place, it’s still there and it’s a reminder that there’s still hope.

Along with the wandering walk always comes the wondering mind, and even though the purpose of the walk was to be focused, one of the meaningful thoughts was how does one communicate the need to keep dogs on leads in our local bushland. What damage could they possibly do loping along, sniffing the smells of the bush as they froth and frolic off the track, not truly wanting to be called back to heal with their human friend.

It was the LBBs that sprang to mind, the little brown birds that are disappearing everywhere under the claws of predators. Not only do they have a rough trot with habitat clearing, very few people seem to like the dense prickly mid story they really get their wings off in, but it’s also the smoochy pooches as they rumble around leaving the smells that deter LLBs from settling in.

The long term locals tell about the Spotted Pardolotes that use to be everywhere, the local wildlife carer still sees them, her bush backs on to Tirrabenbah, the six years of local bird surveys record them every now and then, but in my habitat garden, there’s never been one single sighting. Until this morning, and this little brown bird’s message was remember what you promised last night, and in seeing it I did.

The other bird blessing that recently really got me thinking about being aware of what you wish for was the two week visit from the local whip bird. Whippy has been about for a while, the distant peel and crack always brings a smile to my dial as it’s a sign there’s still somewhere for it to live and it’s managed to avoid being eaten. There’s a very clear memory of a thought wanting the little local to visit my place, it’s always been sort of close, close enough to hear, but never close enough to see until it decided to treat my household with a wake up chorus that resonated in the tiled alcove out the front as it perched on a chair and let rip, or clung to the bottom sill of the glass door out the back and reverberated , or scrambled amongst the Cheese trees shielding the west wall from the summer sun and echoed through the open windows. It came and it went back to where it was safe, as I’m writing the whips are cracking, and the tears are welling up, they still believe in me, after all these years and frustrations.

Oh and then there was the first swim of summer message. Walking towards the lake, the mighty foreshore Eucs that forever sing the swim songs, providing a perch to share the utter heartbreak and distress call of the the Currawong whose babies had been eaten again, the second year in a row, it was a cat. The pain of parenting, the frustration of being small and silent to many, the plea for cat containment.

The cat numbers are growing fast with one feral for every registered puss it’s still going to be a challenge. Part of the challenge is getting the tree-changers to understand what we still have and how quickly it can all be lost as cats and dogs roam from home not always under the watchful eyes of those that should be watching.