When i think of birds i think of either inside birds or outside birds. Inside birds would be thanksgiving turkeys, chicken tenders, etc… things i eat. Things already dead, to be clear. AND birds that have already been processed, to be precise. Then, there are the outside birds. The nice Look-honey-the-geese-are-flying-south type that fly overhead, or the ones that dodge the grill of HOSS, the suburban, by 3 inches on the freeway.
Whether in a zoo, at a park, at the beach, or in my trees of my front yard it all comes to this for me: Live birds do not belong in my house because they are OUTSIDE birds.
A. They have not been decontaminated, de-pooped, or de-scented.
B. They most likely have cooties.
C. They have wings and feathers that make that flp flp flp noise that is ….creepy.
D. …… I have more, you get the picture.
Basically, they are rodents, or food. Depending on the packaging. Now, why am i obsessing about this?
Wheh-eeh-eeeelll i’ll just let you know i have a cat who is a freak and LOVES to bring the great outdoors inside. Birds, to be precise. This afternoon was the most recent, and the least traumatic, but you should know this one thing about me: slightly or majorly, THAT STILL FREAKS ME OUT. Obviously, i’m not talking about ew, icky. I’m not even talking about whack-it-with-a-stick-to-get-it-out-of-the-house freaked out. I’m saying that, for example, i have dealt with my 4 kids diapers and barf, as they were growing up. It’s not pleasant, but i dealt. I dealt with their labor, didn’t i???? I deal with a lot of unpleasant things. I have pets, remember. And training a puppy and dealing with kitty litter are not for the faint of heart.
But the bird in the living room thing…. it looks something like this:
1. flp! flp! flp!…. bang-bang!, and, possibly, a ka-blam! (What is that noise??)
2. i open the door of my bedroom, creep downstairs with a ….bag, shoe, star wars light saber, or hair dryer hooked to an extension cord, in an effort to fluff to death whatever is interrupting my beauty sleep. At 2 AM, it comes down to whatever is handy and makes sense at the time.
3. i see feathers, the bird flapping, or will see the cat with that really proud look on its face that says, “Oh you gotta see this one! It’s flappin around like it’s going to make it outta here!”
4. i scream uncontrollably, dropping whatever i had in my hands, and run upstairs to wake Husband up. Why yes, it usually is in the middle of the night. And yes, i do pull the damsel in distress card. All i can think of to say is, “blah! blah! Get it Get it…..bird! bird! bird!… Look, i did the barf of all the kids, you get the bird……ew ew ew ew ew!!!!!!”, again, this is what makes complete sense at the time.
5. I then jump on my bed, under the covers, and push Husband off the bed.
He works his magic, the bird is gone, and life goes on. Was I always like this? Nope.
The first time i couldn’t figure out what that noise was. We have a doggie door that the cat uses. (And thankfully so, because i refuse to be any pet’s servant). So hearing the flap open and shut is a normal part of life. This particular night, though, i went downstairs to see if my top ramen had finished boiling. Side note: I only like Picante Beef flavor, which i feel is a very grown up flavor. Not kid like at ALL…. Anyway, I walk down my stairs and notice that there are feathers around the floor. Odd, that. So i get a broom to sweep them up. Sweep. Sweep. Then i notice feathers in the living room, too…...hmmmm follow the trail, wondering what’s going on? Nothing in there. Nothing in the kitchen.
At this point i am a bit frustrated, thinking the boys have brought in a nasty surprise for me when i do laundry (they are just starting the prank phase, and i have been caught a few times. but not today!) I look downstairs where there are feathers in the computer room and by the laundry area. HA!!!! But then, i hear noises coming from the kitchen that have nothing to do with tweens, and notice that the cat is on the half wall! My eyes crinkle into slits. It is a huge breach of etiquette at my house to have pets on anything but the floor, and even then i secretly hate it. I get ready to swipe her down with just a bit of vigor, when i see her leap to the top of the fridge! Again, how dare she!!!! grrrr. DANG cat….
And that’s when i notice her looking down at the stove. Intently. At my top ramen.
A part of me wonders, “Why is she stalking my Top Ramen? She doesn’t even like Top Ramen, does she?……” And it takes me a good 2 seconds to walk up the stairs, contemplating the palate of my feline, until i realize that boiling along with my top ramen is her flapping prey. Yeah. It wasn’t pretty, nor was it contained to the pan. Feathers, water, and …whatnot… were ALL OVER my stove, refrigerator, and ceiling fan. Why yes. Yes, it did smell to high heaven. No, it didn’t smell like my picante beef top ramen, anymore. And yes, of course i did yark a little in my mouth.
The rest of the next 15 minutes was a blur of the squealing/screaming and running for the husband.
We now have an understanding, the family and i. I will now happily feed the dog/cat, deal with teenage drama, do errands/appointments for kids and husband. Their indulgent role, and it’s the most simple one they have, really, is to rescue me from rodents who drop out of the sky into my Top Ramen. I think it’s fair.