I have, over the years, become quite well attuned to the distress calls of birds in our garden, and in particular to the ‘watch out for the cat call’, which demands an immediate action on my behalf: for I do not tolerate cats in the garden. But the other day the ruckus had nothing to do with a cat.

As I look out of the window what I see is two magpies, claws locked, rolling about in the grass. There is another pair on the ground standing a foot or two away, a wee bit like the seconds at a duel, and yet four more up in the apple tree above, heartily egging the fighting on — a proper brawl I have never seen the like of.

We have reached a bit of an impasse. Both birds are rather awkwardly on their side, managing to keep out of the reach of each other’s beaks. Both trying to prop themselves up using their wings, in a hope of gaining an advantage, with limited success, and so not much is happening for quite a bit; just the loud cheering from their mates. I watch spellbound.

Our garden is on a small slope, and when the house was built, it was split into three levels about two feet above each other. The apple tree is on the upper terrace, and the brawlers are just on edge of it. As they tussle, the inevitable happens, and they fall off the wall.

I don’t know whether it is because the fall is so short, or because this isn’t a mere squabble among friends, but, to my great surprise, they do not let go of each other. And as they fall one of the birds manages to land on the top of the other.

This changes everything. What follows can only be described as vicious pecking: the bird at the top goes for the other’s head and eyes with the relentlessness of a sawing machine, and his opponent is desperately trying to hide its noggin under its body, but it’s not working.

At this point I decide to intervene. It’s not I do not understand that Nature is merciless and the struggle for survival is not pretty. But I too am Nature and having to deal with a magpie carcass, or worse, a blind bird, would be total pain. I am in no mood for that.

As I step out, the bird with the ‘upper beak’ pauses, and I can see it is unsure whether I am a greater threat than the other of his own species. There are a few seconds of hesitation (when Hollywood makes The Magpies, this is when it will go into slow motion), but then it lets go and the whole posse of eight birds flies off to settle on a neighbouring roof.

I confess, my feelings about magpies are somewhat ambivalent.

There used to be a pair nesting in a tree next door (the tree, like so many around here, is no more), and they make huge noise during the nesting season (if you haven’t had a magpie nest a few meters from your office window, you can’t imagine). Also, they are quite high up the urban food chain, predating on the youngs of the smaller birds, which can be quite heartbreaking, when you have watched their progress from an egg. But that’s what it is, nature is not pretty, and all life comes at the expense of some other.

But on the upside, the nesting magpies have always kept the garden cat-free, not even the biggest neighbourhood tomcats dared to fall foul of a pair nesting magpies. And that makes them a natural ally of mine. For the domestic cat is an awful invasive species that has a devastating effect on our bird populations. And unlike the magpie, the domestic cat hunts for fun and pleasure.