[as dictated to Tanya]
I like birdies. A lot. They are so much fun. I particularly wish I could catch one. Mommy will not let me. She is mean.
I get excited when they sing for me. Tweet. Tweet. I hear you birdies! I rush to the window to admire them. I think they look awfully tasty.
Mommy says I would not like the taste of birdies. I think she is wrong. They sure look tasty. She also says that I am not wily enough to catch one either. I am insulted by this. Birdies have exceptionally small brains; everyone knows this except for mommy. I am a feline, so I naturally have a very large brain.
I am certain I could catch a birdie if mommy would let me outside, but she refuses to give me outdoor privileges. I believe that constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. As soon as I figure out how to use her cell phone, I am calling PETA to complain. Or Gloria Allred. One of them is certain to help me.
Mommy keeps promising to set out a bird bath or bird seed so more birdies come to our patio. But she has not done it yet. She claims that I sometimes get overly stimulated by the birdies and act out. I do not see how pouncing on the window or screen doors is naughty. She says it is. She has lots of rules.
I am much smarter than Sylvester the Cat, so I am confident that I will catch a birdie soon. In fairness to poor, inept Sylvester, Tweety Bird does seem like an exceptionally smart birdie. But not as smart as me, of course.