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Fluffy vs. The Hummingbird
by KJ Hannah Greenberg



My Perspective:


I watched our neighborhood mascot, that mixed breed, rotund, distinctly orange tom, trot down some external stairs toward our door. That clamorous beast has been known to caterwaul at all hours, yowling until our building’s residents bring him food, water, or both.


I wish we could allocate more to Fluffy, but my salary cut, resulting from the pandemic, causes us to repurpose scraps into meals. Besides, I don’t enjoy going out in the rain, or the heat, to deliver munchies to a churlish creature. Although I like small animals, I am not at all enamored of felines that act as though I am indentured to them.


Consequently, when a sunbird confronted that kitty, while I bit my cheeks (so as not to laugh), I would be untruthful to claim that I didn’t find the situation amusing. The avian was less than one fiftieth Fluffy’s size, but the cat appeared terrified.



My Son, Ariel’s, Perspective:


I saw Fluffy retreat from a pocket-sized bird. At first, I wondered why the valiant had had that reaction since pussy could have easily opened his mouth and then swallowed his wee adversary in a single gulp. Perhaps, like Mom, he has become wearied of life’s labors.


I then recalled that the professor of my sophomore level interdisciplinary class, Nihilism in Europe, claimed that both Nietzsche and Heidegger understood acts attempting to immobilize life’s meaning as acts fraught with difficulty. Perhaps, Fluffy not only assigns no significance to the food we leave for him, but, also, finds no meaning in his entitlement to hunt.


As such, it is no wonder that he turned away from that songbird, ostensibly retreating from a readily winnable confrontation with an oscine. In yielding his ground, perhaps, Fluffy was signaling just how deeply he had cognized our ecosystem’s lost anomie.



The Palestinian Sunbird’s Perspective:


Stupid feline! He ought to have known better than to regard highfliers as snacks. Altogether, our bionetwork’s members realize that tabbies are lowlifes relative to us utilitarian beings who pollinate and sing.


We seek no handouts, but we improve the environment. Among fauna, we are supreme in our contributions. That we strive for the common good further evidences our preeminence.


Nonetheless, certain nincompoops, i.e. feral furries, fail to appreciate our renown. Hence, it’s unsurprising, when one of us puffs up its feathers to chase away those vile critters, that our stratagem works.



Fluffy’s Perspective:


I never thought I’d live to see a hummer looking big like me.

Sure, they wrap their brains in tongues, to be quickly unstrung

With might at flowers. Such power, though, oughtn’t be used

Where moggies rule. We can’t help but drool when thinking of

Chicken dinner, of gobbling much thinner banquets than repasts

Two-legged odalisques offer; flyers remain our rightful feasts.


Yet, one untamed, monstrous fowl, on my prowl, heaved wings

In my face. There’s no need to discuss why it had to be erased.

Mere morsal from afar, it jarred me with its unseen corpulence.

No passerine so grand ever tried to stand down a cultured cat.

Pest patrollers must not think to flee to escape beaked banshees,

Turn tail on battered, feathers. No, we must end such endeavors.


Whereas I celebrate gratis food, human servants, plus grassy leas,

Mine’s a life, too, for sifting district trash, sidestepping brashness,

Ignoring flighted pluck. Fine mousers don’t consort among fowls.

We fill our homes with their bones, fertilize bushes with plumage.

(It’s just that we demur when sprites refuse our rules, those fools!)

After all, as my territory’s apex, I reject those vibrating intruders.




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