The beauty of the local wattlebird is that you'd barely know he was there, most of the time.
He's not a "singer". He does, however, have a characteristic harsh, rasping "alarm" call; if he sees a cat, he makes the noise.
Fair enough.
Just on dusk, last night, I hear him out the front, rasping away, so I went out ready to wave my arms and look like an idiot, shooing the cat away. But there was no cat... (Which is probably a good thing, as the sight of me standing in the front garden waving my arms around like an idiot can't do much for the real estate values, ha ha).
There was, however, an early rising possum, half way up the tree, looking harassed (poor thing).
The wattlebird doesn't make a distinction - it's hairy, it's about the right size, and he doesn't like it.
All the grounds he needs to kick up a fuss. 
They're a weird mob, here.
O Ca-waratah-nada!
A red and pretty flower!
True, it's easily mistaken for others.
With glowing heart we posted the pic,
And the comments ran strong and free!
(Do not try to sing along with these words).
I'd miss the poetry if it wasn't here, and the reason I'm so sweet is that it keeps people guessing as to what it is I'm Really thinking (Evil Laugh).
