I hadn't spotted my local Cooper's hawk lately, until yesterday. When some survival-related uneasiness niggled in a dark corner of my brain, I looked up from my writing desk and saw one fiercely glaring at me from a leafy hideout in the nearby box elder.
"What," I said, staring back, "little ol' you is sitting there considering big ol' me as potential lunch? Doesn't that strike you as foolishly optimistic?"
My remarks must have offended the raptor, for it abruptly shook its feathers before turning its head, never deigning to look my way again. After perhaps five minutes of inspecting, studying, scrutinizing, and what might have been a hawk-version of intense gaping, at all manner of objects in every viewable direction except towards my workroom window, the miffed Cooper's flew off.
Nobody likes sassy prey.