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*sigh* Bird.
Apr. 23rd, 2004 02:27 pmEdith's still on the bird-a-day habit, alternately dragging in wee little brown wrens and gigantic grey pigeons which she proceeds to eat, under my desk, beak to bones, leaving nothing behind but an (ever-increasing) pile of feathers. Pretty soon I'll be able to start my own eBay business, selling pillows and comforters and puffy downy parkas.
It's a good thing I hate birds.
It doesn't even strike me as strange anymore, except for the bit yesterday where I made the mistake of taking Lennier back over to my desk, and found myself typing to the rhythmic smacking of Edith crunching away at my feet. I'm back on the bed now. She won't threaten me here. Because we're just that kind of household, the kind where one needs to implement rules like: "no birds on the bed."
A couple days ago I woke up to some not-uncommon thumping and flapping, and blinked my eyes open in the dark only to see --
HOLY CRAP, this one's ALIVE, this one she's working on now, it's thwacking its little wings like crazy under my desk and there's feathers everywhere, it's like a goddamned pre-teen pillowfight in here --
-- blinked my eyes open in the dark to see the lazy, vulture-ish circles of a pigeon making laps above my head. It was only vaguely surreal, in a sort of infantile-mobile way, and then Edith leaped and bit down and I went back to sleep with the sounds of bone-crunching as my lullaby.
The one she brought in yesterday was so big it dragged out in front of her when she zippered back and forth down the hall, its wings spread out across the carpet, dangling from her dextrous nose like an avian cowcatcher.
When I walked to the grocery store this morning I saw half a dozen sparrows playing on the sidewalk, and they all looked like snacks to me.
It's a good thing I hate birds.
It doesn't even strike me as strange anymore, except for the bit yesterday where I made the mistake of taking Lennier back over to my desk, and found myself typing to the rhythmic smacking of Edith crunching away at my feet. I'm back on the bed now. She won't threaten me here. Because we're just that kind of household, the kind where one needs to implement rules like: "no birds on the bed."
A couple days ago I woke up to some not-uncommon thumping and flapping, and blinked my eyes open in the dark only to see --
HOLY CRAP, this one's ALIVE, this one she's working on now, it's thwacking its little wings like crazy under my desk and there's feathers everywhere, it's like a goddamned pre-teen pillowfight in here --
-- blinked my eyes open in the dark to see the lazy, vulture-ish circles of a pigeon making laps above my head. It was only vaguely surreal, in a sort of infantile-mobile way, and then Edith leaped and bit down and I went back to sleep with the sounds of bone-crunching as my lullaby.
The one she brought in yesterday was so big it dragged out in front of her when she zippered back and forth down the hall, its wings spread out across the carpet, dangling from her dextrous nose like an avian cowcatcher.
When I walked to the grocery store this morning I saw half a dozen sparrows playing on the sidewalk, and they all looked like snacks to me.
