You know how it is, when you finally get to bed, you're so very tired, and your head hits the pillow? You pull the quilts up over your shoulder, snuggle into your warm, significant other, and just dive into sleep? It's wonderful, actually.
There I was, drifting into one of those truly puzzling dreams I sometimes have, where this lady from the local feed store kept squawking, "Ye'gotta put yer hand up the chicken's cloacha (she pronounced it loudly, "clo-WACK-uh") and feel your way to the omnibus..."
And THEN... there was this resounding BANG!! CRASH!! CLAAAANG!!! from the living room. I thought, damn, did the cats knock the cookie sheets off the counter?? Then I thought, no, they knocked the stereo off the bookcase, dammit. Then, I heard the frantic squawking, and sat up to shake the Husbandly One awake. "They knocked the bird cage down again!!"
He didn't want to get up. I can't blame him, really.
So I got up and went into the living room, turning on lights, fully expecting to see a slightly dismembered, though apparently still alive, parakeet hanging from either Muta or Calcifer's mouth. The cage (which is huge by the way) was on the floor, top off (because the cats have figured out how to take it off), there was bird seed, bird poop, and water everywhere, as well as potting soil, DVD's, and inexplicably, my kids' soccer shoes. The bird was behind the entertainment center, scolding the cats furiously, who were all stalking her, and I swear they all had that same smirk on their face that the Grinch gets when he's plotting something evil!! I grabbed the Instrument of Cat Discipline and started squirting like mad while shouting, "Honey, the cage is down, the bird is out, the cats know it... HELP ME, DAMMIT!!!"
It was not fun. Have I mentioned that this bird is psycho?? At one point, I had her in the kitchen, and almost got her to perch on my hand. Almost. At the last second, she flew shrieking at my face. I ducked, she flew into the dining room, the hall, and into the bathroom. As I followed, I discovered the dog had left me a nice, squishy, smelly, and still warm present in front of the bathroom door. It was not my night, was it?
The Husbandly One corraled Miss Stinky Anti-social Parakeet by taking the top part of the cage and slipping it over her in the bathroom. She flew up to escape, and thus became convinced she was trapped in her cage again. Apparently, thinking up diabolical plots to dismember us all with her beak takes up all her teeny, tiny brain power, and therefore, she was incapable of thinking, "Hey, all I gotta do is fly down and I'm outta here!!"
We got the cage put back together and she's back on her high spot. My morning will be occupied with removing bird seed and other... things... from the living room floor, the couch, the fish tank, the window sills, the ceiling fan, and probably a whole lot of other places I'll discover as I clean.
Did I mention how much I hate this bird?
*grabs broom, dustpan, bucket, sponges, and other cleaning supplies, muttering imprecations under her breath as she departs for the living room*