There was a whoosh, and the light poured in. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed the boy holding the cover. I chirped, hopped, and preened to the rising of the sun. The light stretched across the room touching everything slowly, like it, too, was learning how this place worked. I puffed my feathers and gave a sharp, deliberate chirp, not random, not noise, but a signal. The boy looked at me, “Hiiiii, Birdie!” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “You always sound like you are trying to say something.”
I froze. Then chirped again, same tone. He tilted his head slightly, coming closer. I chirped once more, hopping to the left side of the cage. I paused, then chirped again, hopping to the right side. He followed me with his eyes. “Yes,” he muttered. “Left; right!” I stopped moving and remained silent. I’ll let him think on that for a while.
After a time, I gave a softer chirp. This time, with a lower pitch. He squinted. “That one sounds different. He’s learning. Good.” I fluttered up to the perch and tapped the bell with my beak: once. “Ting!” Then again: “Ting!” Then I looked at him, waiting. He hesitated a moment, then tapped the side of the cage lightly with his fingers. I snapped my head towards him. I chirped twice, approvingly. He smiled and said, “Do you want me to do that again?” I flared my crest slightly. He tapped again. I chirped. Back and forth, we did this call-and-response language building. Now we were getting somewhere.
Outside, I could feel the world moving. Wind brushing past, distant calls. Raven was out there somewhere, probably laughing. The boy leaned in closer, now fully awake. “What are you trying to teach me?” he asked. I hopped down to the lower perch of the cage, getting eye level with him. Then I did something different: I didn’t chirp. I just stared. Humans hate silence. They rush to fill it. He swallowed slightly. “Okay. I am beginning to follow you.”
I let out a slow, controlled chirp. He sat back, studying me now. Not like a pet, but like something he didn’t quite understand. Good. Now it was time to see how much I could get him to trust me. I turned my head toward the door of the cage and chirped once. Then back at him, then at the door again. He followed my gaze. “You… want out?”
I didn’t move, nor chirp. Just watched. He stood slowly, watching me watching him. My feathers trembled as his hand came closer to the latch. He paused and looked at me. “If I open this cage, you’re not going to go crazy on me, are you?”
I titled my head then gave a soft and almost amusing chirp. He was nervous, I could tell. He opened the cage door slowly, stepped back. I didn’t move, not yet. He looked stunned, good. I fluttered over and landed in the cage opening. Then I looked up at him and chirped once. He blinked, and I just stared. “You are a curious bird, Birdie. The cage is open, and yet you just sit there in the door.”
I chirped twice then flew up and landed on the top of the cage. The boy stepped back with shock in his eyes. I flared my crest and began preening myself. The boy had no idea that he was mine.
*
The door closed as the boy left out, and that mean ole cat slipped in. Mister is that mean ole cat’s name, the boy had said. The room, quiet, with shadows cast about, as a soft light filtered in from the window that was framed by curtains, where the birdcage sits upon a small stand at the foot of the bed. The cage is particularly wide and as tall as a small child. There I sat on top as I watched Mister dart under the bed, looking at me to gauge where I was. I hoped the boy would come back soon, because I had no time for Mister and his antics. His head appeared under the edge of the bed, eyes gleaming with hunger. My wingfeathers flicked out of nervousness, yet I remained calm, watching to see what Mister’s next move would be. I scanned the room looking for the highest perch I could escape to if and when Mister made his move. Mister started slinking towards me as if I didn’t see him. His tail swayed back and forth, eyes locked on me the whole time. The feeling was very creepy. I puffed my chestfeathers out and launched at Mister with an aerial assault and a warning call “Spew! Spew!” along with poop droppings over his head. He cowered and hissed. Then I flew to the top of the doorframe and perched there, for it was the safest distance away from him. That should teach him not to stalk me!
Mister walked over to the door and sat, raising his right paw to clean the poop droppings off his head while growling “Arrrgh.” The door opened, startling me. I flew to the top of the curtain on the other side of the room by the window. Mister tracked me, with a look that said “I’ll get you one day,” as he left the room.
The boy entered the room. “Woh! Where the heck did you come from?” the boy said as he closed the door. “Did Mister hurt you, Birdie?”
I chirped a deep sounding “No.”
“That sound is different from the others! It’s safe now. You can come down.”
I peered at him and flared my crown with annoyance.
“Birdie, I didn’t know that Mister had snuck in the room. Don’t be mad!”
I chirped twice, softly and fluttered down to the top of the cage.
The boy sat on the edge of the bed, opposite of the cage, with a sincere look in his eyes. I made direct eye contact with him as if I was peering into his soul. Humans are such birdbrains for that kind of thing. So I took a chance. I fluttered over and landed lightly on his lap, which startled him, yet he relaxed quickly. I chirped while cocking my head to the side, thinking “I have this boy in the palm of my feathers.”
