Birds for Bonnie

Around our house, Matt and I typically spell out the word “bird” rather than say it aloud. We take this precaution because our cats know the word, and their immediate reaction to hearing us utter it is to stare at the television set. Not out one of the two living room windows offering views of real robins or jays or chickadees perched in real trees. At the television.

We blame Kelsey and Brice for this. Months and months ago, after dinner at our house, our well-meaning friends mentioned their own cat’s fascination with bird videos.

“Bird videos?!” you say. “What does that even mean?”

Readers, we too were perplexed. So Kelsey and Brice explained: Apparently, songbird enthusiasts across the globe train video cameras on their bird feeders and upload the resulting footage to YouTube for cat enthusiasts to play for their feline friends. Many of these videos boast views in the millions.

So we connected a laptop to the Apple TV and connected that to the flatscreen and broadcasted one such bird video for our cats. Only Bonnie, our plus sized female cat, stirred. (Let me preface the following by making something clear: this is a cat action verbs like “stir” typically don’t apply to. Bonnie’s idea of chasing a feather teaser is to roll on her back and absently bat at the air with both front paws, a move that resembles weightlifting but thus far has had no discernible slimming effect on her figure. Derek, a family friend, once referred to Bonnie as “Bubba Seal,” a fitting nickname for a cat whose favorite lounge position is big belly up, stick legs curled.) Anyway, Bonnie stirred the second she noticed those YouTube birds. Without pause, she extracted herself from her basket bed atop the ottoman and took a flying leap onto the carpet. She planted herself in front of the television screen and stared, mesmerized, as foot-tall scrub jays devoured piles of sunflower seeds. Bonnie was so convinced these birdzillas were actively within or on the other side of the peculiar third window before her that she barked, a soft, breathy chatter of aggression released through curled lips. When the digitized birds became especially aggravating, Bonnie jumped onto the thin strip of table in front of the TV. With little room to maneuver, she was squished sideways against the screen but still attempted to swivel her head on that sad stump of a neck so as to keep the now-blurred birds in sight. It was as if Dinah had tried to follow Alice through the looking glass, but the looking glass had rejected her. Poor Bonnie.

Naturally, Bonnie’s confusion and angst was quite amusing to us, and so Matt and I began hosting entire film festivals for her; “WinterBirds -- Entertainment for Cats” by cowboystew, “Video for Cats” by outofthebiz and “30 minutes of CrazyBirds for your CAT to watch” by Mike OD (capitalization by Mike OD – perhaps to dissuade any humans who might be tempted to watch a half-hour of songbirds noshing on seed). It didn’t matter where Bonnie happened to be lounging. If Matt or I said “bird,” she’d come running and plop herself in front of the television. And, inevitably, she’d begin barking.

“Get ‘em, Bonnie!” we encouraged. “You tell those birds! Kill them!” (As Bonnie is an indoor cat who never goes outside, this overly enthusiastic line of encouragement is perfectly acceptable).

But, sadly, YouTube’s library of cat porn is finite, and we eventually exhausted the available material. No matter! It turns out Bonnie is not discerning about her entertainment. Overnight, she had morphed into a television junkie who glued herself to the boob tube whenever it happened to be switched on. Her yellow eyes tracked the gilled stars of nature documentaries. She followed the football during NFL broadcasts. She earned “Wheel of Fortune” Wheel Watcher status. She read the news ticker. Even when the television screen remained dark, Bonnie peered into the nothingness and willed the bright colors and shapes to return.

I was putting clothes away one day when I happened to look out the bedroom window and see robins swarming our California Holly tree. More than 20 birds were perched on the tree’s branches and gulping down its red berries. Huh. Within five minutes, I had dusted off the video camera, attached it to the tripod and pointed it at the tree. Within three hours, I had managed to upload a solid 45 minutes of thrilling bird footage to YouTube. I too could boast a million views! I would enable my channel for monetization and become rich!

But first: a test audience.

“Birrrrrrd! Birrrrrrd!” I purred. Bonnie came running, her undercarriage swaying.

I pushed “play,” and the two of us sat companionably on the carpet in front of the T.V. Together we watched digitized robins fly in and out of that holly tree. Oh the joy as each beautiful red breast took flight!

Bonnie stared at the television, transfixed, a reassuring compliment to any budding auteur. Only I noticed the real robins flying in real-time past the adjacent living room window. Bonnie was too busy barking at the T.V.