It was the wilful killing of garden birds that decided me not to keep any more cats after the last two died. I found my enjoyment of seeing the birds feeding and bathing more than compensated the loss of having a cat or two (or three) around the house. I also felt I could hardly sign petitions against the Maltese and Italians blasting thousands of migratory birdies out of the sky, let alone the despicable torture of liming twigs to capture little birds like robins, when my own pets were contributing to the annual carnage. We all know how bloody hard birds work to find mates, make nests, hope not to have their eggs predated, and safely bring up their babies to fledging. And then someone's feckin' mog kills them - mine included. I wasn't that happy with little voles being presented, either - but when I saw two healthy little blue tits who'd only recently fledged from one of my boxes literally swatted out of the air by one of my cats, I decided that once the felines were dead, they wouldn't be replaced. I don't regret it - I still like cats well enough, but I don't need to keep them. A blackbird visits our little town garden here and his song in the morning, atop one of the chimneys, is such a delight. I couldn't bear to think of him unthinkingly smashed by a cat. Mine did it purely for trophyism, rather like cutting off the ears of a despatched bull.