A Little Bird*

Yesterday, when I got home after being gone since last Thursday, and more importantly, after the house had been closed up since my friend K. left on Friday night, I was walking around and noticed a little bird flying panicky-like in the living room. It was smacking up against the windows in there with beak open in fear, panting and wide-eyed, trying, I imagine, to get out. (Either that or he hated the curtain treatment and was trying to offer some not-so-subtle hints that I need a new decorator).

I thought maybe I had let it in when I opened the back door to let the cat out for her after-drive stretch. I opened other doors, and coaxed said little bird out the front door where he escaped with a flick of the tail and a "later loser" before heading off into the wild blue yonder. But then, I looked around and saw bird poo and a few feathers scattered about the floor where the cat's dish is. And then a few bits of bird poo on the dining room table (an antique-- although it's finish is already a bit toasted so it's not too bad of a deal-- anyone know how to re-finish tables?) And then, as the evening wound on, I found smatterings of little birdy poo on my shower curtain, too. I imagine I'll find a few other little splats here and there. Does bird poo carry any major, blood-spurting-out-of-my-eyes-in-a-horrible-death-diseases? I'm cleaning it with 409-- should I get a biohazard suit?

Apparently, little birdy had been trapped alone in the house while I was gone for at least four days. Poor little thing! I just hope it didn't order any pay-per-view porn while it was here. It would be really embarassing for that to show up on the bill next month.


*I'm not sure if this was the "fabulous" blog entry I had planned. But it'll do for now. Now, after having performed the Yoga Sun Salute, and updating you folks on your "need to know stuff about me" fix, I need to go to Starbuck's and get coffee since there's NO MILK in the fridge. Damn that butler. It's really hard getting good help these days. They keep pissing off to do their own things and not anticipating my every whim. (No. I don't really have a butler. That's a stupid joke).