Monday, May 30, 2016
The day the parrot bit my dad, we ran over the cat. Dad didn't mean to run her over but he was distracted by that pesky bird. Maybe it had plotted it all along. Maybe the cat was too dominating and she had to be finished off or maybe she killed one of the bird's wild friends. Whatever the case, she was dead. And we were all sorry about it. My little sister, Elisa, chose a nice place under the shaded oak tree to bury her. Of course we all shed a tear and said our prayers, the way that Elisa wanted us to because she said it was our fault and we should be sad. Elisa held that parrot close to her and comforted her with words, "It's ok, don't cry. Your friend is in a better place now. Shh..don't cry." She patted that bird's head and groomed its' feather methodically. Later that night, all I heard was that pesky bird laughing in its sleep, literally.