"Stop revarnishing the Rembrandts and tend to Our Ennui," came the subtle command, transmitted in Fierce Tail Wags and Marmy's unique Hiss-and-*Ack*::*Ack* vocalizations.
Since Marmy had endured a vet visit yesterday... Since Buddy feels himself starved because he's in yet another growth spurt... Since Dobby is... Well, since Dobby *is*... I dug up an old DVD that we'd purchased years ago as a Xmas Pet Stocking Stuffer.
It's called "Feathers For Felines: A Double Bill Creature Feature For Cats." All natural sounds, and you can set it on an eternal loop, should you want to drive your household permanently crazy. Otherwise, it runs about two hours. Mostly birds at feeders and in a typical back yard environment, it also features geese, chipmunks, squirrels, and one very weird frog swimming in a cement pond.
It's certainly not an intelligence test, and it doesn't captivate all cats. My dear Sam-I-Am could take it or leave it, and Uncle Kitty Big Balls never did figure out that the images and sounds came from the television. He would try to vault through the window, as he knew for sure those birds were real. He thought we were under attack and the whole thing made him anxious. So I'd tucked the DVD away...
|Uncle Kitty Big Balls|
The Blue Jays are the real attention-getters. Spines straighten, lips are licked, paws reach out, butts quiver.
Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten and Marmy Fluffy Butt are the hunters of the crowd. Marmy was a street urchin, abandoned with her brother, pregnant, and completely wild. We took her in because she was the spitting image of Pitiful, her tiny body stretched to the point of bursting, eyes infected, sneezing, and bitchy as all get out. She wasn't, and isn't, an itty bitty kitty that endeared herself to strangers, so, yes, she knows how to hunt. And Buddy? Well, he's a Maine Coon, and from what we can tell, stalking and hunting are hard-wired activities in the creature. We've decided that the best description for Buddy Boy is that "everything is a game." *Everything*. You may need to stretch your big toe something fierce... to him, it's an invitation -- to pounce, to subdue with a tackle, to consume, even.
As you stroll around Manor grounds, you'll likely hear screams: "It is not a game! It is not a game!" [The most fun, for me, is trying to put anything away. A tee shirt, say. I manage to put it on the proper shelf, turn to fold another, and wham! Buddy has it by the sleeve and is rounding the corner at full speed, eyes lit up with glee. "I've got it! It's mine, all mine!"
Dobby is very sensitive (Oh, hush.). He likes the entertainment but is worried, constantly worried. Is Buddy behaving or is he going to bring these giant birds down on my pea-sized head? Marmy, how are your eyes? don't get to close to the screen! Is that wily squirrel really in the Boob Tube or should we post a sentry? Dobby paces the battlements, the weight of the world's welfare scrambling his sweet brains. One belly rub to the rescue!
Dang. He can be really disconcerting, Dobby. I just looked up to see him intently watching Buddy watch the birds. Laser focus. Creepy.
Huh. Buddy is the only one who repeatedly checks behind and alongside the telly for any varmints that may have leaked out. An indication of his kitten status, I s'pose.
Anyway. I had fun watching them watch the birds. (And each other.) Hope you do, too. [I'm trying to correct this, but for the moment, the audio -- mostly chirping birds, with occasional responses from Buddy -- has disappeared.]