My back porch is like a temple to nesting birds. I live in a flat roofed tenement building. This long winter stole my soul, and now I see the bonnie birds. The building is a hive for nests. At my mother’s house, birds would nest in a wreath she had hung from the door of her front porch. Every year, they came back.

Each year I tell the landlords where the birds are nesting; there are squirrels in the eaves, so nature fights it out in this old tenement. Each apartment is the same in a flat roofed building that used to house families who worked in factories. As the top floor tenants, we seem to get the: birds, squirrels and alarming leaks.

The landlords, who are my age and savvy give the awesome answer of “Hmmm…”

One year the birds nested in the light fixture on the back porch of my third floor apartment. I stumbled up the stairs rather than turn the light on, because I heard the surest sign of chirping , and wanted them to make it. I would have to drink A LOT if a light bulb killed the birds., since I unscrewed it just enough to not work or disturb the nest. Meanwhile, as nesters, they swoop right next to your head for being near the nest that happens to be your light bulb and access to your back door., especially in the dark. That’s scary, believe me. Angry birds, indeed.

Nature gives choices. I’m lucky I was born, in terms of the meme of : “Life is a gift” . I’m glad I was born since I have nothing to compare it to. But I’m not super excited about it.  I hope my life is significant in some way, to someone, but I don’t have children – which seems to me a remarkable choice that so many of my friends have made.. Once you have children, you don’t look back. Your life is, to some extent, subject to another. I am proud of my friends for raising beautiful and aware children. We need exceptional people to save the planet

But you know how all baby animals are cute? Well, it’s not true. I have only managed to MOVE the birds to a more appropriate nesting place, And I wish I had urged them to a different house. Not like we discuss real estate. Little baby birds look like raw chicken wings with heads. And weird eyes.   They are cute in a nest with a chorus of beaks but..

 But every year at least one baby bird doesn’t make it. The mother or father kicks the weakling out. Not enough food, not going to make it, I don’t think they have a bird discussion! It’s just an instinct. And the baby bird lands on my porch. It doesn’t even really have feathers…it can’t stand up and yet it is suffering.

So I have learned to kill them.

 Once the nestling is kicked out of the nest, with no feathers, it cannot be saved. The first year I had someone else do it, but he stomped on its head. Now I just kill them quietly, by smothering them in a washcloth and breaking their neck – neck? Just crushing them.

It is the saddest part of spring cleaning, and I understand that this is not a model for euthanizing other species. Just something to learn from.

I have cats, who are very upset that they have bells on their collars. I’d like the young birds to have a chance. As predators, my cats are not interested in fetal birds. But they will take down a fully formed bird just like they will catch a toy I toss for them. Domestic cats are the greatest threat to birds – more than wind turbines or loss of habitat. I try to make sure my assassins have a warning bell before they hunt.

And I – well, I think about it way too much, in a way. I adopted two cats because the owners were going to drown them. They had worms, fleas, ear mites – they were very disgusting little meowers. Now one of them, Trouble, can catch birds.

I often think that this microcosm, my life, your life - has some relation to the larger events in the world. You can draw your own conclusions.

For me, spring cleaning means struggling for clarity – and order, which is my worst nemesis.  Every year it seems I kill a weak little featherless bird that should not suffer.  

For some reason, this is my spring cleaning.