I will tell you this story, but at least one person is going to write in and say, "You're a terrible person, Joooon." "You aren't fit for this planet, Jooooooooon!" Whenever y'all nag me, my name turns into Jooooon.
Yesterday morning I was in the computer room, already showered and in Marvin's nice cowboy robe that he left behind. Marvin left everything behind that I ever gave him, and I don't know if he did it on purpose or not, but how anyone could leave a blue cowboy robe is beyond me.
My point is, I was in here having myself a time, blogging and Facebooking and doing all the things that make me late for work daily, when Iris
brought in ANOTHER GODDAMN BIRD. And this one was not only alive, it was flapping. I mean, dude was pissed. He had a bee in his bird bonnet, is what he did.
Iris has learned how to let herself out through the screen door, and no, I don't like it, either, seeing as Roger taught himself to go out the screen door and got himself run over, and every time I think about losing Roger, the largest toughest coolest cat on earth, it breaks my heart. And I just recently noticed Iris all lettin' herself in and out, coming in and out of my life, and thought, I should really get a hooky kind of lock for that door.
But I haven't, and yesterday she GOT HER BLIND SELF ANOTHER BIRD. She is so not blind. This time I am certain of it.
When she came into the room with a squawking, flapping bird that was practically her size, I did what any responsible adult would do. I screamed and flailed my arms and called Ned. Who was already at work.
"IRIS HAS A BIRD!" I screeched at him. "She brought it in and–AAACCCKKKKK!!!!" The bird had freed itself. Free your mind and the rest will follow. I really wish I didn't have to think of song lyrics constantly, but there you go. Not only had it freed itself and its mind, it was FLYING around my HOUSE, right over my head.
"ACCCKKKKKK!!!!" I screamed again, directly into the ear of Ned, and you know how sometimes businesses will say things like, "We know you have many choices when it comes to your episiotomy service provider, and we appreciate your choosing Acme Episiotomies"? You know how they say that? Sometimes I feel like saying that to Ned.
"I know you had many choices when it came to the women hitting on you on that dating site. I appreciate your choosing the most dramatic, difficult one."
In case Ned hadn't gotten my point, because sometimes I'm not direct, I said, "ACCCKKKKKK!!!!" into his earhole once again, for good measure.
"Do you need me to come over there?" Ned asked, because he is the most patient man on earth. But he'd already been late for work because of me this week already. "Well, you're gonna have to get him somehow," Ned said. "Do you have a net?"
If there's anything Ned can't get enough of, it's my butterfly capture stories. Do I have a net. Sometimes when there's nothing else to do, I'll put on a white coat, grab my net and drag people who strike me as crazy right to the home. Mental health service providers love me. We know you have many choices when it comes to who's dragging you here with a net.
So no. I didn't have a net. I know it's a staple for most people, right up there with ketchup, salt and episiotomy tools. I do not know why I'm so obsessed with episiotomies today, and I should cut it out.
I called animal control, is what I did, eventually, and the nice lady there similarly suggested I get the bird myself.
I had been standing hysterically on my porch, in my cowboy robe, and how often do the neighbors just make popcorn and sit in the window waiting for what's next, do you think, but I gathered up my courage and went into the house. The bird was just SITTING there, on the kitchen sink, like he was waiting for the coffee to brew or whatever.
Not that I perch on the edge of my sink while I'm waiting for the coffee. Especially now, since my whole kitchen is Avian flu ground zero.
You can see that I hysterically tried to take a couple pictures in my hysteria, but I said rather hysterically to the animal control woman, "I CAN'T DO IT! I'M AFRAID TO APPROACH HIM! I KNOW THAT'S STUPID BUT I AM!"
I don't even know what I was afraid of. But I so was. "Okay, ma'am. We'll send someone out."
I waited, hysterically, still in my cowboy robe, till the nice man came with, yes, a net.
"My cat, my BLIND CAT, got a bird!" I told him, as he eyed my nice robe and considered capturing me with the net to take to the home. I like how I keep calling it "the home," because that's sensitive. Anyway, into my kitchen he and his net went, and
after some struggle, he got the poor thing. "Squeak!" said the bird, who had hurled him or herself against my kitchen window a few times, and who just wanted to get the hell out of my house, like everyone else who comes over.
And it was over. I was so glad. "Yay!" I said, glad this bird had survived the wrath of Iris Dahmer. The nice animal control man was headed out the door with the bird in the net when
Tallulah jumped up and ate it.
She ate it.
She jumped onto that net, and ate that poor sweet bird. Net schmet. There's no stopping Lu when she sets a goal.
"SON OF A BITCH!" I yelled, and the beleagured animal control guy said, "Well, shit."
You guys. It happened so fast. And it's my OWN DAMN FAULT, because I DANGLE squeak toys in front of Talu all the time, and how was she to know this was a different kind of a toy altogether?
So that is the story about that poor doomed bird.
And SOMEONE is SUPER EXTRA PROUD of herself, and has been rolling smugly all over the place, all Proud Mary keeps on rolling.
So yes. Miss Iris Setter, the Charles Manson of cats, is getting a DAMN BELL COLLAR, and my door is getting a DAMN HOOK LOCK, and I will come back to life as a bird living in a tree that resides on a cat farm.
P.S. I was late for work, and when I explained the story to my boss, he blinked a few times. And he said, "That story had everything in it, including the kitchen sink."