tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-106692442011-04-21T19:17:48.802-07:00Freedom, the Cockatiel Who Lives In a Cagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17547412261271594874noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10669244.post-1107739129575212762005-02-06T17:04:00.000-08:002005-02-06T17:18:49.576-08:00<span style="color:#000066;">What are you doing? <br /> <br />(<em>wolf whistle</em>) <br /> <br />Hey Lady! <br /> <br />(<em>wolf whistle</em>) <br /> <br />Freeeeee-dom. Hey Lady. What are you doing? <br /> <br />Okay, finally. The husband's gone. Yes, husband. I am a male bird and I have a human husband. It wasn't my choice. And I was not born this way, yet nature made me do it. Imprinting. It's part of my make-up and Frank used it to his advantage to control me. I should wish for his demise, but alas, imprinting has made me his life partner. Tis a bitter seed in the gullet. <br /> <br />Hey Lady! <br /> <br />(<em>wolf whistle</em>) <br /> <br />What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? <br /> <br />Frank keeps walking by. Spying. Jealous type. I have my revenge. I frequently walk the keyboard when he's doing his web work. You should see his head bobbing around like a yard hen trying to find the cursor. Idiot. Yet I crave his presence. <br /> <br />He appeases me with a view of some road I first assumed was a back alley but have since discovered, this is a common street on the Upper East Side of New York City. Imagine my shock. I'm a trendy bird. <br /> <br />New Yorkers, though, they're so nosy. I hear everyone asking my man if that bird belongs to him. His sanctimonuous "yes" sticks in my craw but I sing anyway. Those bitches better keep their hands off him. Other Man lives here and though I dare not speak it outloud, I fear that my husband's Other needs are supplied by Other Man. I, of course, am left to a swinging perch and a hanging rope for my own gratifications ... figure it out. <br /> <br />One of Frank's female companions asked him if I was happy always stuck in the cage. Am I? I wonder. But then in about four minutes, I can't remember anything but the repertory my darling Frank brags about to the neighbors. Sure, I could live in the wild, but months with sketchy food prospects? Not this turkey. I have it made. <br /> <br />Sure, the two cats were an immediate red flag to me, but they can't touch me. Never can. Even when I have my ... Freeeeee-dom. (<em>wolf whistle</em>) ... Dang my name just sucks. Anyway, the look on those cats faces when they realize it's just never gonna happen ... nest me here. <br /> <br />Hey Lady! <br /> <br />No, he's not coming. It's time to get him in here so I don't have to actually fly back to the cage. I'm spent. I just want water ... <br /> <br />Hey Lady! (<em>imagine more of my beautiful whistle-songs here</em>) <br /> <br />MMMmmmmP! <br /> <br />Night-night. Night-night. What are you ... night-night.</span> <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10669244-110773912957521276?l=cagedfreedom.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Freedom, the Cockatiel Who Lives In a Cagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17547412261271594874noreply@blogger.com3