“You’re anthropomorphisizng.”
How many times have we leveled that claim, either as accusation or admission? Of assigning human qualities to inhuman things: the dog that knows what you’re thinking; cats that speak to you; that hamster that must have a cocaine problem. 
Perhaps we can’t help it. Perhaps we shouldn’t.
The other morning, I was in the spa, trying to awaken. Suddenly, I felt a bird graze the back of my head as it flew through one window of the jacuzzi and out the other as it rested in the backyard.
I was stunned. The only living creatures to enter the spa are me, bugs and, once, a tiny frog taking a steam sauna on the side of the tub.
But never a bird. Finches love my house: They once built a nest on the back awning, and are constantly on the roof and back wall, scouting for bugs. The huge crows that live in the tree next door are predators to be sure, but they pay the finches no mind.
Now one was frozen still in the back yard.
I turned around to see the window through which it flew. What I saw startled me: a gray hawk, big as a hen, staring me straight in the eyes less than three feet away. I’ve read that birds are the closest modern-day ancestor to dinosaurs, which always threw me for a loop.
Until I saw that hawk. Suddenly, I felt like I was staring at a velociraptor. 
I wanted to pick up my iPad and snap a photo. But I was nervous that the bird (uncertain of my size because I was up to my neck in water) would take it as a sign of aggression and peck my eyes out.
I froze like a finch.
Finally, the hawk took flight, landed on the back wall, and resumed the hunt.
The finch tried to become airborne, only to find the hawk swooping down to attempt another attack. The flinch descended again, took cover under my patio. The hawk, meanwhile, stood over him on the tin patio roof. Now the finch was fucked.
So I decided to anthropomorphize.
When it comes to animals — any animals — we believe in pacifism at the Fortress of Scottitude. I’ll escort spiders outside. Wasps too. Bugs consider Rubio Avenue a sanctuary city. And unlike our president, I consider visitors guests, not intruders. I can proudly say I never separated a mother bird from her chick to send a message.
Also unlike our president, we don’t tolerate predators of visitors. I stood in the tub, naked as a finch, and fetched one of the dozen tennis balls stacked in the spa for Esme. I took aim, and chucked the ball at the bird. It clattered along the roof, sending the hawk squawking away. About a minute later, the finch took flight. I know I broke Nature’s first law of life — death — but fuck that. My kingdom, my rules.
As if on cue, Esme fetched the ball and brought it back. And I realized: Why do we have such disdain for anthropomorphism? If anything, shouldn’t we be assigning more human qualities to those we consider inhuman? From finches and bugs to Democrats and Republicans? Maybe assuming that creature has human sensibilities isn’t such a bad thing.
I know one finch that would agree.
