Bird Killing Machines: Why Do Wellington Cats Attack Birds?

Wellington is a cracking little city. It’s got hills, wind, and heaps of green spaces where birds sing and flutter. But there’s a problem—cats here are bird killing machines. They stalk, pounce, and nab birds all over town. Why do they do it? At One Network Wellington Live, we’ve dug into this tricky question. Cats are fluffy pets to some, but to birds, they’re deadly hunters. This article looks at why Wellington cats attack birds, what it does to our city, and what’s driving these furry killing machines.

Cats have been part of Wellington for a long time. They came over on ships from Britain way back in the 1800s. People liked them because they caught mice and rats in homes and on boats. Now, they’re everywhere. Wellington’s got about 200,000 people, and heaps of them have pet cats. Some keep them inside, but lots let them roam. There are feral cats too—wild ones with no owners—hiding in parks and bush. A 2020 SPCA survey said New Zealand has over a million pet cats, and Wellington’s got a big chunk of that.

Cats are built to kill. It’s what they do best. Their eyes spot tiny movements, their claws grab fast, and they sneak like shadows. Birds are perfect prey—small, quick, and chirpy. Wellington’s full of birds to chase. Native ones like tūī, kererū, and fantails flit around Zealandia and the Botanic Garden. City birds like sparrows and pigeons perch in backyards and on roofs. To a cat, they’re all targets. These bird killing machines don’t care if they’re hungry—they just hunt.

Wellington’s a bird paradise. The green belt—those bushy hills—gives them nests. Zealandia in Karori keeps native birds safe from rats and possums, but cats still creep in. A study from Victoria University said cats kill millions of birds a year across New Zealand. In Wellington, it’s tough to pin down a number, but people see it all the time. A lass from Khandallah told us her cat, Whiskers, drags a bird home every week. “He’s got heaps of food,” she said, “but he’s a killing machine.”

Why do these bird killing machines hunt even with full bellies? It’s in their nature. Cats don’t think, “I’ve eaten, I’ll stop.” Their instincts kick in. Dr Sarah Jones, a Wellington vet, put it simple. “Cats are predators,” she said. “Years ago, they hunted to live. That’s still there, even with a dish of food at home.” Pet cats kill for fun or practice. Feral cats do it to eat—they’ve got no one feeding them, so birds are dinner. Either way, birds lose.

Wellington’s setup helps cats kill. The city’s small and packed. Houses sit next to parks and bush. A cat in Te Aro can wander to the waterfront or the green belt in no time. Birds can’t hide far. The wind plays a part—it rustles trees and distracts birds, letting cats pounce. Cuba Street’s noisy with buses, but a cat can still nab a sparrow on a ledge. In places like Miramar or Johnsonville, gardens and trees bring birds right to these killing machines.

Which birds get hit? Native ones are the big worry. Tūī, with their shiny feathers, hop around Karori and Kelburn. Kererū, fat and slow, sit in the Botanic Garden. Fantails zip through the bush. These birds didn’t grow up with cats—people brought them here, so they’re new threats. A 2013 Massey University study said cats kill about 18 million animals a year in New Zealand, lots of them birds. In Wellington, Forest & Bird say native birds take the hardest hit. Tom Kay from the group told us, “These killing machines grab the weak ones—chicks or sick birds. It’s a problem.”

It’s not just native birds, though. Sparrows, starlings, and blackbirds get caught too. They came from Europe, like cats, so they’re a bit tougher. But a bird killing machine doesn’t care where a bird’s from—it’s all the same. In Hataitai, a bloke named Pete said his cat, Tiger, nabbed three sparrows this month. “He drops them at the door,” Pete said. “I feel rotten, but he’s a hunter.” It’s a story we hear heaps—cats kill, and owners sigh.

Does this hurt Wellington’s birds? It’s hard to know for sure. Birds have other enemies—rats, possums, and chopped-down trees. Cats make it worse. Zealandia’s got fences to stop these killing machines, but not all birds live there. In town, birds nest in gardens and parks where cats prowl. A 2022 Wellington City Council report said tūī and kererū numbers are up thanks to pest traps. But cats might keep those numbers from growing more. Dr Heidy Kikillus did a cat-cam study here—she put cameras on ten cats. No birds died on film, but owners said they’d brought some home before. Lizards got eaten most—four in a week. It proves these machines are out killing.

Why are birds their top pick? They’re easy to see. Birds flap and sing—tūī call, sparrows tweet. That hooks a cat’s eye. Feathers wave in the wind, and these killing machines can’t look away. They climb trees and leap fences like it’s nothing. A bird on a branch in Newtown or a pigeon on a roof in Thorndon is done for. Cats wait too—they’ll sit dead still for ages, then strike. Dr Jones said, “A cat might watch a bird for half an hour. They’re patient killers.”

Wellington’s famous cat, Mittens, shows how cats own the place. He’s a Turkish Angora who roamed the CBD—shops, offices, even a strip club—before moving to Auckland in 2021. His Facebook had 70,000 followers. Mittens wasn’t a big killer—too busy being a star—but he proves cats go anywhere. Most Wellington cats aren’t famous. They’re stalking in Kelburn or hunting in Lyall Bay. Birds don’t stand a chance against these machines.

Some say cats only kill weak birds—ones that’d die anyway. A 2008 UK study found cat-killed birds were often thin or ill. Maybe that’s true here. But Wellington cats take healthy ones too. A woman from Wadestown saw her cat grab a plump kererū. “It was massive,” she said. “He hauled it in like a trophy.” These killing machines don’t pick and choose—they take what they catch. With so many cats—pets and ferals—it adds up quick.

What’s it mean for us? Birds make Wellington magic. Tūī songs start the day, kererū swoop overhead. If these bird killing machines keep at it, that could fade. Forest & Bird call cats a top danger to native wildlife. They don’t hate cats—it’s us who brought them here. In the US, cats kill billions of birds yearly. Our birds are rarer, so each loss stings. The council’s tried stuff—bells on collars to warn birds, rules to keep cats in at night. But not everyone listens.

Can we stop these killing machines? It’s tough. Cats are loved—people don’t want them locked up. Some say, “My cat needs to roam.” Others say, “Birds need to live.” In 2022, the council handed out free bell collars. They help—birds hear the jingle and scarper. Sir David Attenborough said in 2013 that bells cut bird deaths in Britain. Wellington’s giving it a go, but feral cats don’t wear them. Trapping ferals near Zealandia happens, but it’s slow.

Keeping cats inside could work. Indoor cats live longer—no cars or fights to hurt them. They don’t kill birds either. But Wellington loves roaming cats—Mittens proved that. A lass from Miramar said, “My cat yowls if he’s indoors. It’s mean.” Fair enough—cats crave the outdoors. A bloke from Karori said, “I’d rather keep him in than see dead tūī.” It’s a hard call.

Why else do they attack? Territory. Cats claim their spots—yards, streets, parks. Birds flying in are invaders. A cat might kill a bird just to say, “This is mine,” not to eat it. In tight places like Newtown or Mount Vic, cats and birds bump into each other heaps. Seasons matter too—autumn and winter bring birds to gardens for food, right where cats wait. Spring’s worse—baby birds hatch, and they’re easy pickings. These killing machines don’t care about the calendar.

Can birds fight back? Nope. Native ones like fantails are tiny. Kererū are big but slow. Sparrows might dodge, but cats are quicker. Our birds didn’t grow up with these machines—rats were bad enough. A bird watcher from Lyall Bay, Jane, said, “I fed sparrows in my yard. Then a cat moved next door—they’re gone now.” It’s a shame.

At One Network Wellington Live, we see both sides. Cats are Wellington—furry and free. But birds are too—wild and singing. Why do these bird killing machines attack? It’s what they are—hunters with sharp claws and sneaky steps. Our wind, hills, and tight streets make it easy for them. We can’t stop it all, but we can try—bells, rules, traps. Next time you hear a tūī or spot a cat with a feather, think about it. Wellington’s a wild mix, and this is part of the fight.