Recently, the New York Times made note of the compassion that Blue Jays have for each other: Jays Appear to Mourn Dead Winged Comrades. The article revealed nothing of surprise to Marash Girl. Since childhood she has been aware of the support that jays have for each other, support that they act out when needed.
In Marash Girl's childhood, there was a big golden tomcat named Frisky, a cat Rev. Stengaard had gifted to Auntie Zabelle and Uncle Paul. (For more on Rev. Stengaard, see http://marashgirl.blogspot.com/2011/01/how-do-you-like-your-egg.html) Frisky lived upstairs in the big old two-family house on Lowell Avenue. Frisky would prowl the backyard, allow no dogs within the borders (how he knew the borders of the yard was always a surprise, as there were no fences), and in his spare time, catch birds -- couldn't be because he was hungry, as our Armenian household, both upstairs and down, always kept Frisky well fed. Yes, Frisky would catch birds and eat them, whether or not he was hungry. The blue jays on Lowell Avenue (and there were many) would have none of it! One day the family observed the blue jays screaming at Frisky and dive bombing, attacking Frisky's head with their beaks , as Frisky went diving to hide under the wooden picnic table. (To look at Frisky, one would never guess he could move so fast, muscle bound as he was.) Marash Girl and the family all knew what had happened. Frisky had eaten one of their young.