“Purr. That looks good.” Fresh roadkill is definitely on the menu for me. 

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I’m a feral feline molly. That’s a female cat who fends for herself. I only prefer the company of other cats. I hunt for my food and eat whatever I can find, including insects, birds, reptiles, rodents. If a car does the work for me, that makes my life a little easier. This roadkill looks like it was a big rodent, or possibly a raccoon or opossum. 

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I’m hungry and can’t wait to dig in. As I approach it, a huge bird is flying right at me.

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“Uh oh,” I meow. “I’m in big trouble.” 

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While birds are on my menu, the big ones could put me on theirs. I scramble off the road and hide behind a nearby bush. I sneak a peek around it to see what it’s up to.

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It lands beside the dead animal, folds its huge wings and proceeds to peck at it. 

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Without thinking, I growl. “Hey! That was supposed to be my meal. I saw it first.” 

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The big bird lifts its head to stare at me. My heart thumps hard. I’ve done it now. It’s going to come after me for sure. Instead to my surprise, it turns back to its meal, tearing and chomping.

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My turn to stare at it. What kind of a carnivore doesn’t chase after its dinner? Here I am, living fresh meat right in front of it, and it chooses the old dead food over me. Not that I want it to eat me. I’m just trying to understand. Of course, I wouldn’t make it easy. I would have put up a fight. 

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Even so, that’s a big bird. A turkey vulture to be exact. If one or two other cats stood on my back it still would loom over me. Not only that, but when it opens its wings, called a wingspan, it could cover seven of us cats standing side by side. 

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Yet, there it is happily eating my dinner. I’m so hungry I approach the dead animal. The turkey vulture continues poking it with its thick pointy white beak. 

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As I get a closer, I hear its black-brown feathers rustle. Being a cat, I’m very neat and groom or clean my nice furry coat all the time. I’d hate to clean all those feathers after eating a sloppy meal. I suppose that’s why its bright red head is bald. Not a single feather poking up on it anywhere. The idea of plunging my soft furry head deep in the messy dead body is beyond gross. I would carefully bite into it and chew my food well before swallowing and taking the next bite.

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The smell coming from the dead animal is strong. It couldn’t be that fresh. I hesitate several paw steps away, trying to decide if I really want to be close to a huge hungry bird digging into a powerfully stinky animal. That smell is what attracted the turkey vulture. While they glide on a thermal or air current higher than skyscrapers, they can detect a smell way up there in the sky. They’re probably thinking, “Why go to the trouble of hunting when someone else has already put some poor animal out of its misery?” But I say, “Where’s the fun in that?” Chasing prey is one of my favorite hobbies.

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The turkey vulture turns to look at me again, and before I have a chance to react, it spews vomit right at me. Fortunately, I have fast reflexes and jump back. Unfortunately, some of the nasty stuff splatters on me. Talk about gross! I hate being even slightly dirty, and the smell is enough to make me gag up a furball. If that’s how the turkey vulture defends itself, then I’d have to admit it works. Wow, does it stink! Now I have to go behind the bush and clean off the disgusting splats. Yuk! I may throw up myself. 

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Who would want to go near a creature with such a foul defense system? I guess the answer to that question would be their chicks or babies. They’re actually pretty cute with their soft, white downy feathers.

 

Turkey vulture parents don’t build nests like other birds. They gather up plants to make a cozy place for their chicks on rocks, in abandoned buildings, inside caves, or hollow trees. Like all birds they lay eggs which are usually cream colored with brown or lavender spots. They’re good parents as both mother and father help care for the young until they’re old enough to look after themselves at ten or eleven weeks old. Not like us cats. I was a cute, fluffy, four-week old kitten when my mother started teaching me how to hunt. 

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Another fun fact. A group of flying turkey vultures is called a kettle.

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And, don’t be fooled by the myth that circling turkey vultures are waiting for an animal to die. They have no idea when an animal is going to die. To be honest I wouldn’t want a kettle of turkey vultures flying overhead. If I did see a group circling above me, I would prance and leap over rocks, trying to look as lively as possible. “I’m feeling great!” I’d yowl at them. “Go sniff out your dinner somewhere else.”  

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So even though many of us including me would consider turkey vultures gross, and maybe wouldn’t want one for a friend or pet, we should thank them for being nature’s garbage disposal. By eating decomposing bodies, they’re getting rid of harmful bacteria that can hurt plants and other animals. In their own special yukky way, they’re helping our planet!