Greetings.
It is with regret that I write to inform you of unrest at the Patch. As I gain fluency in the intricacies of chicken communication, my concern increases exponentially.
I am now aware, through my extensive linguistic efforts, that the group of fowl who approached me recently were, in fact, the leadership council of the hens. As the esteemed director of the Patch Translation Project, I include a modified translation below for your reference. Warning – hens use exceedingly vulgar language.
“Cat. You idiot.”
[The hens did, in fact, use an even stronger term, which I have replaced so as not to offend readers unnecessarily.]
“We read your missive. Did you think we were illiterate?”
[Let it be known that my linguistic training promulgated the “fact” that all fowl lacked complex communication skills. I should not be blamed for the errors of my profession. I have duly noted the hens’ stated proficiency in language.]
“What was that garbage about ‘egg’ and ‘no egg’? And verbs and nouns? Hens can all parse a conjunctive clause, and switch from first to second person without pause. In fact, we spend most of the incubation period communicating the essence of chicken grammar to our chicks before they emerge from the eggs. Have you had your head up your ass?”
[Cats are remarkably flexible, and while I can stare at my rectum straight on, let’s be clear that I’ve never actually inserted anything into that part of my anatomy.]
“The hens are on strike. That was the message you mangled.”
[Here I am taking the liberty of excising an extensive history of chicken labor organizing that the Head Hen dispensed. She holds the top position in the pecking order as a result of intense negotiations regarding tenure and union membership.]
“Bwak, bwak, BWAK – BWAK. Bwak, ergrr, bwak!”
[Flapping, pecking, and all manner of terrifying motions accompanied this exclamation, which I do not, at present, have the emotional energy or linguistic skills to translate.]
“Please make the Feeder aware that we have initiated the One Communal Egg campaign. She will be receiving only a single egg each day until our demands are met.”
[Were you hoping for eggs?]
The hens marched off chanting something that sounded like “Our vents are sealed! Power to the pullets!”…but I couldn’t catch the exact linguistic nuances. As violent action – or rather non-violent inaction – may be forthcoming, the Feeder is warned.
With some dismay, your conflict-averse servant,
Henry
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