It’s 11 a.m. and sunny in Pacific Palisades, California, so Spencer Pratt is on his deck feeding hummingbirds. One is hovering inches away, flashing its magenta neck feathers and poking a long black beak into the plastic container of nectar Pratt made on his stovetop earlier. It’s peaceful and silent except for the soft beating of wings, the sound of wind blowing through the trees below.