... and yet

I feed my birds. Put water in their dish. Open the cage and let them fly around my house. I’ve tamed the cats to not paw at them when they fly near. I’ve put a cover on the fishbowl, so the birds don’t fall in the water. Their cage is always clean, free of their own excrement, filled with toys for my parakeets to entertain themselves with. I put in the radio a CD of smooth jazz on weekdays, and on the weekend they enjoy the sweet notes of Beethoven.

And yet, when I put in my hand to fetch their dishes to refill their seed and water, they make the most dreadful sound. A growl that comes from the back of their throats. In the wild, this is their response to predators. But I am no predator, I provide them everything. They land on the cat’s head, and Kitty does not sink her teeth into them, she tolerates their playfulness. My birds land atop the novel I lay upon the fish bowl. My birds insist on relieving themselves on wooden perches, making scrubbing necessary. They ignore their toys, and throw seed shells outside their cage. My birds make their own music on their own terms.

Why do my birds screech?