The Lovebird Incident – Sometimes cats do the unthinkable…

The Lovebird Incident – Sometimes cats do the unthinkable…

Sometimes cats do the unthinkable. Sometimes they do something so terrible that you’re led to question why it is that you willingly bend over backwards to accommodate their every need and desire.
I hesitated to write this post for fear that this incident was so heinous that I’d be judged upon the actions of the Trio; that when I die I’d almost certainly be struck down deep into the depths of Hell.
With all of that said, sometimes shit just happens. With cats, it happens often and without warning.

Late last year, I came home late from work after a long day at the office. I stumbled into the house, relieved that the kitchen appeared to be free from any evidence of bodily excretions or slaughter.
I began my usual routine, kicking off my shoes and wearily plodding through the house to get changed, greeting the cats as I went.

It was only as I made my way into the front hall that I realised something was off. I spotted a small shadow out of the corner of my eye, a telltale outline on the floor by the front door. I switched on the light and instantly regretted doing so.
“Oh my god what the FUCK is that?!” I shrieked, leaping backwards as the Trio began gathering in the shadows to watch the spectacle unfolding before them.
I stared down in horror, unwilling to accept what lay before me.
“IS THAT A PARROT?!” I screeched. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. I know very little about birds but I know enough to understand that Sparrows are not green, Blackbirds do not have red beaks and no native British bird has eyes as jolly in appearance as the dead eyes staring up at me.

Panic set in, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The only evidence was a head, but that was evidence enough. How the hell had this even happened?!

Images began flashing before my eyes; had one of the cats slipped into a neighbour’s home and snatched a beloved pet from its cage? Had they burst into an aviary like a fox in a henhouse, wreaking destruction as they raided the perches? Surely not… what kind of actual fucking monsters did I live with?!

As I paced frantically, imagining every scenario that could have led us here, there was a sudden knock at the door.
My heart leapt from my chest; it was gone 10pm and I never get visitors – had there been a witness to this nightmare?!
I imagined the owner waiting for me to arrive home, their rage and thirst for revenge growing steadily as the hours ticked by.

I almost soiled myself as I hastily slapped at the light switches, plunging the house into darkness.
“Holy mother of Christ” I hissed, darting up the stairs and into the back bedroom, hiding like a frightened child as I hurriedly weighed my options.

The Trio scattered in all directions as I cowered in the darkness, guilt rolling over me in crushing waves.
My heart still racing, I crept through to the front of the house and peeped through the blinds to see a man, dressed in a Dominos outfit, sulking his way up the path towards his car, clearly annoyed that he had the wrong house.

Until this point, I wasn’t aware I’d been holding my breath; it rushed from my lungs as I felt my legs crumple beneath me.
“WHO DID THIS?!” I wailed, “Which one of you absolute BEASTS brought this slaughter into my home?!”
The Trio began to regroup, clearly baffled by my display of despair as I lurched unsteadily down the stairs to reassess the situation.

I snapped a quick photo of the remains and sent it to my long suffering boyfriend with the caption “WTF IS THIS?!?!” as I began recovering my senses.
Immediately the response came back. The exchange went something like this:

Me: *picture*
Boyfriend: “… uh”
Boyfriend: “holy shit”
Me: “omfg what do I do?!”
Boyfriend: “…”
Me: “FML”
Boyfriend: “Google says it’s a Fischer’s Lovebird”
Me: “My cats are dead to me.”

By this point I was openly weeping; not only had the cats slaughtered another innocent victim but they’d laid waste to the bird of Love. Was this what Hell felt like? Maybe I needn’t worry about my fate, I was already there.

The sinking feeling began to engulf me once more as the Trio crept in to examine the shit show they’d left behind.
I frantically collected the remains, stepping around the furry executioners as I cleared the evidence from my front hallway.
Unsure what to do next, I clutched what was left of the Lovebird. What if an owner came forward? They might want a funeral.
So I did what any sane person would do. I bagged up the remains and put them in my freezer.
“What the fuck has my life become?” I mumbled, sliding the drawer shut and closing the door.
I poured myself a stiff drink and waited for a knock at the door; mercifully it didn’t come but I didn’t sleep that night.

I lay awake most nights throughout the following week, worrying about what might come of this incident. I spoke with neighbours, without divulging the exact source of my query, desperately seeking answers as to who, if anyone, owned birds on my street.
I cringed as I passed posters on lamp posts, expecting one to feature a photo of a Lovebird detailed “MISSING: Gary the Lovebird – call for info” but thankfully no such poster ever emerged.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and the incident was almost forgotten until I recently had a hankering for some Fish Fingers. I opened the freezer and rooted around, only to be met with the remains of Gary. The memories came flooding back as I recoiled in horror and slammed the freezer shut, my appetite instantly lost.
“Fuck my life” I howled, glaring at Bailey as he sauntered by, “Fuck my fucking life.”

#ScarredForLife #NeverGotOverIt #CatsForSale

Note: I’ve since discovered that despite Scotland’s propensity for poor weather, there is in fact a small local population of wild lovebirds nearby. Fml.

The Lovebird Incident

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