Now, the little chatterbox has a name. Bert is a blustery male cardinal, who huffs and puffs along my balcony each day. His loud chirps beckon me (and my fritzed-out cat, Salazar) to the window as he claims his territory on my newly planted radishes and snap peas. I have yet to catch him pilfering through my seeds, but I know he’s bragging about something devious. I’ve never seen such hot air. His chest swells, and as I poke my head against the window screen, he grins cockeyed. Poor Salazar. The Oreo-coated cat can’t seem to resist the urge to chew my onions down to pitiful nubs, so he’s not allowed on the balcony until his two pots of cat grass mature. Until then, we’ll watch in quiet envy as Bert hops along the railing, whistling, boasting about the grandness of mid-May’s rain or perhaps the green tenderness of our cat grass.