I folded my camp chair and rested it in the corner of our little playhouse in the yard. Mother Tree Sparrow prepared her nest snuggled in the seat of my chair and laid her eggs. We delighted in watching, very carefully and from a distance, her come and go, singing to us in sad tones when our presence was preventing her from tending the babies. We watched her come and go for several days, so we were certain she had not abandoned them.
A sad morning, we discovered that our old man Moses, the cat, had been hunting in the night. I was very upset to see that he left not even one of the babies alive. When I related this story to one certain nameless person, he replied 'it's like a box of chocolates, did you think he would eat just one?' excuse me?
I know he is a cat and this is natural for him, but that doesn't take away the sting of the sight of those poor baby birds. Mother Tree Sparrow trusted the safety of the playhouse, although the nest was less than three feet off the ground. It would not have been my choice location.