Squawks of Gilbert

A few days ago we got a new houseguest. He was small and grey, with a long stringy tail. He was camping out on our patio, and during the day he would pick up the scraps that the wild birds left on the ground. I don’t think he had a real home. He was very polite, though, and he was doing a good job of cleaning up the patio. He came to our window a few times and on Friday he finally introduced himself. His name was Rodney and he was a rodent. But last night, Daddy put out a special machine with peanut butter on it, and this morning Rodney was fast asleep in the machine and didn’t wake up when Daddy picked up the machine and put it in a bag. Now he’s gone. Rest in peace, Rodney.

So the evil one thinks he got the best deal yesterday. Hehehehe. While he was entertaining the tiny featherless ones — with their sticky hands and weak limbs — I was cruising in style. My auntie Michelle took me to all the best stalls, where I was given treats and snacks and proper adoration by the full-sized fans. They know how to treat a guest! The band was even playing as I entered the market — a solemn tune, though, not the usual zydeco that I love so much. It probably had something to do with the evil one. Happy dance music is never appropriate when he’s around.

And he’s so paranoid about predators. Sheesh. Doesn’t he know by now that Amber and Daddy would never let anything bad happen to us? Or maybe it’s that he knows that if they had to save only one of us, it would be me. So he has to be vigilant for his own sake. Oooooh. That makes sense. It must be hard being him.

As for the vomiting, well, some guys just get carsick. I didn’t used to, but Amber got a new car, and the roads were very windy yesterday. And I’d had a big breakfast, and I was trying to read in the car. Well, you know how it is. Like he’s ever driven cross-country. Ha! I bet he’ll be spewing a different tune when we drive up to Seattle.

Did I tell you about our new home? We’re going to have our own room — not one that we have to share with the computers. And we get a sunroom, too. Windows all around and on top. The evil one will be busy scanning the skies, little knowing that the glass will protect him. He’s such a yokel. I wonder what Miss Cricket will think. She used to fly free like the predators, so she might like looking up at the sky. I wonder what that was like, flying free. Oh well. Can’t miss what you never had. My life is good, good, good, so I have no complaints. Except about the evil one….

So apparently the little fatty has decided to sic Amber on me in a form of psychological warfare. They always have trouble getting him to bed, but since I’m so low maintenance I usually get a great nights sleep .. until last night that is .. banging noises in the dark followed blinding light .. I scooted for the floor and wedged in real good .. no way I was going anywhere untill I was sure what was going on.

Today they took us to the farmers market .. the ride was long, but jeez, the plucked one was throwing up just about the minute the car started to move .. you’d think that he’d be used to it, but no..just spewage everywhere, its no worse than flying .. but maybe he can’t tell cuz all he ever does is tumble to the floor with nary a flap.

Anyway it was nice to be out, but it’s way too exposed, it seems like Amber and Daddy never look around to see if anything is coming .. standing right out in the open we’re way too bright of a target, its a good thing I have sharp eyes.. especially with that reflecting collar that whiny wears.

Because I’m the well behaved one, I got to play with all of the mini Ambers and daddys .. most of them aren’t very good perches but Daddy was always close. I guess the picker got all of the attention that he normally craves .. mostly pity for the collar of discipline .. and he didn’t get to play with the mini’s very much, probably because he’s not the friendliest of the flock. The best is we get dried (semi popped) corn on the cob, it makes a great thump if you push it over the edge after you’re done with it.

Wow. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Our computer has been up and down and down and up. And anytime it was up, Amber had work to do. This is my first opportunity to finally write in weeks!

So the freedom to which I refer was short-lived. The other day, Daddy took my collar off — and it was wonderful! I was able to scratch that little spot on my tail that I haven’t been able to reach for months. And my neck! All those little feathers needing to be preened and plucked. Uh oh. Did I say plucked? Well, therein lies the problem. It’s my nervous disorder. No sooner do I start preening than it turns to plucking. I just get all twitchy and I can’t control myself. Amber says it’s neurological, that it’s not my fault. I try not to pluck — really, I try soooo hard. But it’s just beyond my control. Sometimes I feel kind of bad about it, especially when the evil one makes fun of me. Or when other people say how beautiful he is and say I look like a plucked chicken. I look nothing like a chicken. I’ve seen them. Not even close. But Amber says I’m beautiful and really that’s all that matters. And my collar is quite elegant, in fact. It makes my feathers fan out like a lion’s mane. So life’s not so bad….

The other night was Halloween. We got to see lots of monsters and cartoon characters. It was funny. But Amber and Daddy wouldn’t let us have any candy, so I was pissed. How fair is that??? And there was so much left over, just sitting there. Shining and smelling yummy. I managed to grab a piece, but Amber got it away from me before I could taste it. But oh it smelled sweet. But she gave me a grape instead, and that was okay.

Well, so much happened in the last few weeks — and I’m sure it was exciting and fun — but I really can’t remember it now. But trust me, you missed a lot!

Until later.

Well, yesterday was a busy, busy day. Piles of newspapers had to be shredded, then there was some serious playtime, and of course, meal preparation. Made one of my favorite dishes yesterday — I’ll tell you all about it in another post.

How do others find time to do a daily blog? There’s so much to do everyday, by the time I get around to the blog, Amber tells me it’s time for bed. And I *have* been ultra tired recently. I think it’s the weather change. Though I’ve been sneezing a little, so maybe there’s a cold coming. I sure hope not. Because if I get sick, then the evil one will probably catch it, and then I’ll never hear the end — “You gave me your cold … wah wah wah.” He’s such a whiner when he gets sick. Acts all tough and brutey when he’s healthy, but no staying power whe he’s challenged by physical infirmities. You should just hear him when we visit Dr. Sanders. He actually ran and hid under a cabinet last time. Hee hee. Number two indeed!

Well today I have some big plans: I haven’t been in my fort for awhile, so I’m hoping I’ll get a few hours up there to explore and make some more tunnels. Then maybe a little wrestling, a good lunch, and then probably a few rounds of whistling and dancing before I take a quick nap. Then it’ll be supper time. What a day. Hmm. I hope Amber doesn’t try to give me a bath. God I hate those things. All that water splashing in your eyes. I hate when it gets in my ears and nose. Or between my toes. That’s the worst! The evil one is always sticking his head in his water dish. Weird. Amber tried giving him a little swimming pool so he wouldn’t spoil his drinking water, but all he did was poop in it. Like I told you: No class.

Well, time for breakfast. I’ve got cereal this morning. Yum.

Canadian?!? well that explains a lot, especially the incessant name repetition and general clumsiness, as for that (self) diagnosed nervous disorder .. I think he’s just trying to hide all the tweaking he’s been doing on the side when he thinks everyones not looking. Also I think he should own up to being a scaredy cat, of baths, outdoors and a regular bedtime .. the self mutaliating picking/squawking at night just irriates everyone else who’s trying to sleep..

Oh, and I’m not a racist, I am, however, number 2 and will be maintaining that pecking order constantly as any good enforcer should, at least I don’t have to try and sneak around plucking tail-feathers when no ones looking.

Well, it’s been a busy couple of days, but I finally have time to catch up. First, I need to say that I’m not even going to dignify the comments made by you-know-who. I just won’t lower myself. I mean, who does he think he is anyway? Calling me a dancing monkey. And Miss Cricket a cripple? That’s just rude. Did you notice how poor his spelling and grammar are? I didn’t want to have to say this, but it should be obvious by now: The guy has no class. Trailer trash, really. I mean even the name: Cracker??? I used to think he was being clever — you know, a play on the whole Polly wanna theme? But I quickly learned it was really much less innocent than that. The fact is, he’s racist! Constantly making comments about my color, picking on Miss Cricket because she’s different. And those comments about my collar. Whoa! He *knows* I have a diagnosed nervous disorder. Is it my fault I’m delicate? Only a brute would use that against somebody. But then, look who we’re talking about….

So enough of that. I have let the evil one (that’s what I call him when he’s not around) distract me from my main task for too long. The whole point of this blog was to tell you about *me* and *my* life. That’s far more interesting anyway.

My name is Gilbert Grendel Gonzo, son of Gonzo and Mrs Gonzo. I was born in Toronto, Canada — a first-generation Canadian. Both my parents were immigrants forced to leave their rural homes in the late 80s. I know very little about them as I was placed in foster care in my first few months because they had too many children to care for. I don’t hold it against them. I’m in a very good home with a family that loves me. Well, most of them. Things were really wonderful before the evil one (notice I don’t even capitalize that!) came along. But I cope. I’m very tolerant.

My hobbies include hopping, whistling, chewing, wrestling, dancing and of course fine dining. I also love quiet conversation and snuggling, but only with a special someone. I’m very well traveled, having lived in two nations and on two separate coasts. I’ve seen much of California and I’m considering a move to the Pacific Northwest. The rainsforests and snow-capped mountains are reminiscent of my ancestral home, which I hope one day to visit. But that’s for the future. For now, I’m enjoying being a homebody and just generally helping out around the house.

Well, that’s me in a nutshell. Ha ha. Get it? (I love walnuts. That’s the joke in case you didn’t get it.) It’s supper time, and I’ve got work to do….

What’s that they say about opening your beak and removing all doubt? talking’s overrated especially when they’ll still feed you for looking cute, and whats with that repetitious name saying ?? I suspect its really just a case of atheletes beak.

As to the weight issue, well Gilbert’s just living up to his literal name “black headed little fatty” I don’t know about being proud of that excess, especially when he needs to keep it in the trunk just to keep that collar of discipline from toppling him off of everything. I just look bigger because I’m no plucked chicken, no sense in hiding any of my gorgeous feathers, gotta fluff for show especially with the raggediness of the rest of the flock (don’t get me started on the cripple hiding in the cage).

Besides, what does it really matter when I’m second in command? Gilbert just wishes he could take on a furby, let alone control the flock of brooms .. how can someone that needs the equivilent of a birdy night light really be considered to be leadership material?

Wusses, huh? That Cracker is so full of himself. They say he looks bigger than me, but that fact is I weigh more. But it’s cuz I’m all muscle and Cracker is just bloated ego. And gas. Did you know he farts all the time? No manners. I know he just does it to get attention. He’s really insecure. Preens and primps all day — he just loves it when people tell him he’s beautiful — and he’ll hump anything that’s sitting still. But the guy’s got an overbite and a speech impediment. In fact, the only words he can say clearly are “Hey Amber,” and guess who taught him that. Right! Me!!

It’s kind of sad, though. He was abandoned, so I guess there’s a lot of baggage there. But, sheesh, did he have to rape the Furby?!?! I still get nightmares about that.

Okay. Now I’m upset. There must be something good to eat around here….

When they’re all wusses.. Gilbert thinks he’s all that with a website and a blog, but I’ll just make him share because I’m number two in the house and he’s well below me, and as long as he’s a wimpy, feather picking coward that ain’t gonna change. I don’t even have to attack him any more .. if I walk toward him he just flops right off his perch and goes running to Amber. Can’t fly, can’t preen and is always running away from a fight.. Who’s your daddy now gibby?

As for Cricket, well she’s gonna have to learn that a big beak behind bars does not bravery make.