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The Bird Feeder

January 17, 2010

My girl Georgie is little diva. She likes to be the center of attention at all times. And she’s a talker.

She talks to her brothers. They, of course, ignore her. They’re too busy engaging in complex and pouncy male kitty maneuvers, vying for the best chair for the afternoon nap, like so:
This skirmish apparently ended in a draw, as this is a coveted chair. But either way, they’re brothers, and they always share.
She talks to me. Almost non-stop. Sometimes I have to take a drive in the car just so I can get a word in edgewise with myself.
She talks to the birds. Which is seriously cute — a kind of chattering “ack-ack-ack-eeeee” sound that she uses just for them. Her special bird language.
So when she was sitting quietly in the window for a full 15 minutes, I knew something was up. I happened to be cleaning my camera nearby and jumped at the chance to get a picture of her with her mouth closed.

Now, Georgie hates my camera, so the fact that she was not only sitting quietly, but also letting my camera click close to her ear without a swipe of her diva claws confirmed that something interesting was going on outside.

I tip-toed behind her … and peered out….

Ah, yes. My bird feeder. My squirrel-proof bird feeder.
But, such a clever boy deserves a nosh.
Georgie seems good with it. Who am I to argue?
“Okay, I’m sooo over you and this camera.”
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