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  • I don’t know why my neighbor bothers to hang a bird feeder in his backyard. We live in a crowded suburban area where every other household is the proud owner of a cat. Maybe my neighbor is secretly an ornithologist and enjoys the sight of cheering flying animals feeding themselves in the cold winter. And so he hung a bird feeder somewhere in the beginning of November, underneath his beloved and well-trimmed tree.

    It is the end of May now, in the middle of a heatwave. The bird feeder is still dangling inexorably in the burning sun. No bird has come to feed itself with this stale meal. The peanuts are roasting in the hot sun. The corn is shrunk into the size of a small raisin. And I’m sure the bird seeds, caught in fat balls, taste like… well… like yesterday’s fat balls, I suppose. And all this time mister cat patiently waits until an unconcerned feathered prey flies by. He must think: all good things come to he who waits.
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