Pink watched TV yesterday (and today). She prefers nature programmes and she likes it especially when the birds start tweeting. Then she jumps on the cabinet under the TV and tries to locate the source of the birdsong. Her ears and her eyes are telling her there are birds in the room, somewhere on the other side of that magical, flat-bedded window that she can’t pass through. There’s no smell (we don’t have high definition) and the image is flat because it’s a flat screen TV. Pink knows all that, sort of. I mean she knows it isn’t real. It’s not like she’s out there, with the wind in her whiskers and the sounds of the birds running through her whole body. It’s a bit like that, but not quite. Out in the garden, or out in the fields, the birds are a different kettle of fish. Pink is wise. She knows the difference.