It's good to have a plan

Having failed to do anything meaningful with my life thus far, I am just going to give in and head straight for Eccentric. Seeing that the "Crazy Cat Lady" genre is overcrowded, I am going to become crazy Bird Lady instead. Luckily, some birds have recently come into my life, so the plan is really taking off. It's one of those wonderful pieces of luck that I just tripped over, like a fortunate... stick... across my path. Plus, I think you have to have at least fifteen cats to qualify for a title, and I'm too lazy to get even one, so that pretty much eliminates the whole "Cat Lady" angle.

My balcony here at work has been co-opted by some house finches, and for the last couple of weeks, there's been a lot of drama. It's my own little soap opera. "The Feathered Heart." I just made that up, but I think that's what I'll call it. I have the only access to this window, so I'm pretty much front row and center for the goings-on at Finch Towers, and since I am no expert on bird behavior, I interpret their actions according to my own social frame of reference.

So far, the Singy family has built a nest, or rather, Mrs. Singy has built a nest. Mr. Singy just stood around, letting the sun gleam off his orange head, showing off in a series of arias while Mrs. Singy flew back and forth with sticks and like pieces of weeds. You could just feel Mrs. Singy's resentment growing, as her no-account husband sat around alternately shooting off his mouth and flirting with me. I tried to reassure her, via subtle eye movements and shrugging, that I was not interested in her husband, but she remained unconvinced.

There was high drama last week as Mrs. Singy's menacing ex-boyfriend Jay showed up to try and win her back. Jay is a big scrub jay, and he was looking to move in on Mr. Singy's territory, which caused the finch equivalent of a "rumble," as ten other finches showed up to defend the Singy family home. The finch defense, which consisted of a barrage of loud singing, proved ineffective and Jay, sneering, stood his ground until, "breaking the fourth wall," I went out on the balcony and shooed him away with my magical incantation, "BAD! BAD scrub jay!" He eventually left, but he paused several times, perching on the branches of a jacaranda tree, looking over his bird shoulder and sneering "You can't keep me away forever!"

Since then, Mr. Singy has stepped up his efforts to win my love, exhibiting even more hopping, staring, and singing than usual. The resentment is building up in Mrs. Singy, and as much as I hate to come between them, I'm going to pretend that I have no choice, and that this is my destiny.

I figure by age 45 or so, I can work up a full-on Bird Lady persona, with cages filled with finches on every wall of my apartment, possibly wearing them as accessories when I make my daily trip to the library to get books on bird care. From there, it's just a short trip to full-blown lunacy. I'm looking forward to the ride.



Star of the day. . .Edie Beale
posted @ 9:31 a.m. on June 13, 2005 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......