For the birds

There is a male cardinal sitting low in my hedge looking straight at me through my window. I naturally suspect treachery, given my turbulent track record with his gender. There he is, covered in red feathers with a pointy crest on his head. Please tell me this outfit does not scream for attention.

No doubt he wants something. He clearly wants me to look at him, and probably to fuss over him and feed him and bring him a drink. I’m sure he’ll want me to forsake all other birds for him. And no more consorting with the large, gray female cat from across the commons. He will resent the cat, whose deep compassion but cool, measured responses fulfill my occasional desire to feel understood.

He, on the other hand, will want nothing of my reflections, scurrying off instead to seek others of a feather. They will all talk about the size of their tufts, which is plainly more important than knowing how to wield them. I suppose they should not bear all the blame for this, since most have never had a straightforward review. This is primarily because potential reviewers know the resultant ruffled feathers would require exhaustive doting.

“What an extraordinary plume you have, my pet. Simply the most commanding I have ever seen.”

“How many? Only the slightest few, my dearest love. I’m speaking allegorically, based on what I’ve heard.”

“Well, yes, we do discuss such things, heart’s flower, but only in the most discreet and adoring terms.”

“Oh, no, my fountainhead, flame of my desire. I would never discuss yours. I simply listen.”

“Of course I’m not ashamed of you, love of my life, companion of my soul, lord of my quivering womanhood… am I to assume you want me to discuss your ‘attributes?’”

“What would I say? Why, I’m too overwhelmed to put such feelings in words, my Adonis, my Anjin-San, my breath of life. I should need time (and a thesaurus) to consider such an endeavor. Now calm yourself, mighty raptor. I’ve brought you a fresh suet,” I would say, wondering why a hawk, a horned owl or even a crow hadn’t stared at me from the hedge.

Or perhaps this bird will present himself as one of those sensitive types who wants to know and understand everything about me. Everything I utter he will either contradict if it is too complicated or take as a directive to show me that he is listening. He will bring to me all manner of items that I’ve mentioned in passing to demonstrate that he ‘knows’ me, thus revealing the limits of his comprehension.

He’ll require far more care and reassurance than the aforementioned flocking type. He will exhaust me with what he believes is his desire to understand me but what is actually his need for me to fit into his understanding. He will become so obsessed with his need to be all things to me that he will smother me and send me shrieking for the company of the cat, who, because she is a cat, will not hesitate to say she told me so.

I am by now so annoyed with this bird that I’m going march right out to the hedge and tell him there’s nothing here to see, but it’s then I notice he’s gone. Now why in the world would he leave? I have a perfectly nice birdbath. Then I see him with a neighbor, who is cooing at him like he’s a big-eyed toddler. He can’t possibly prefer her company over mine. If he would just get to know me…

Sunday, January 28, 2007

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