My parents did not mind the little bird pecking on our window glass. To them, it was just a thing that happened. But even at a young age, I knew better. The bird was pecking with a purpose.
I went to the window and inquired what the bird wanted. “My name is Clarence Sparrow, fowl attorney, and I represent the birds who live in the fern trees in your yard. Last night one of our group was eating on the grass when your cat viciously attacked and killed it.”
I was very sorry to learn of the bird’s demise, but I explained that I was the only pet in the household and wouldn’t hurt one, especially since I seldom go out.
“It’s that darn cat who lives under your steps,” Sparrow accused.
River warned me about Ugly Joan, our southern border. But I had not smelled tail or butt of her.
Sparrow continued: “We demand the immediate removal of the cat, also fresh bird feed every day and not the cheap supermarket stuff that we spit out and causes weeds to grow under the feeder. The same thing happens in our bellies.
“If you do not agree to our demands, we will not let your angel siblings borrow bird bodies to visit the mortal side, and we will fly into the windows, causing a loud smack leaving a blood and feather stain.”
This bird was serious.
I took a nap and summoned Foley. She said she would meet with our downstairs tenant and the birds. I listened from the kitchen grate. That is when I learned that ugly Jona had moved to mousier pastures, and her son Cantankerous Chris was now living under our stars.
He lived up to his name.
First, he mistook Sparrow for lunch and tried to swipe the bird into his mouth.
Then he refused to stop eating the birds. I had to stop listening when mommy called me to sit with her.
The negotiations went on for hours. That night Foley visited me and reported that they had settled. The Angels could still use the bird buddies as long as Chris let out a warning meow before attacking,
“But what about the birds smashing into the window if we don’t serve the best food?” I asked and was told by Foley those were mortal problems.
It took several persuasive dream visits by Pocket, who was on my side because tiny dogs must stay together to get my parents to buy the expensive bird food.
I barked at my parents whenever the feeder got low so we were not feather bombed. But one morning, a rogue squirrel raided the stash, and the feeder was bare.
The birds had loaded a fat Robin into a slingshot and were preparing to fire it at our living room window. I begged them to stop and said they couldn’t hurt the little bird. They told me birds never die; they graduate into new bodies.
So why were they so upset at Cantankerous Chris if the eaten got a new body?
I needed more time to ask when the birds began firing their volunteers and unwanted eggs at the windows, creating a defining bang and an unholy mess.
That darn cat had got us into a war with Angry Birds, and now we were under attack.
It is going to be up to me to keep the peace.
Thank God I am Ruby Rose, the baby boss.
I hope the birds respect my authority.