Sunshine, the demon parrot, squawked as soon as I opened the door.

“Freeze! OR I shoot! SQUAK!” She said, in way of greeting, then flapped off her perch and landed, painfully, on my head. I knew better than to try and pry her off so I walked into the kitchen with an extra foot of African Grey on me. It was at times like this I was glad I’d bought my house, with it’s high celinged and doorwayed Victorian style it was perfect for walking through with a giant evil bird on your head. To be honest I don’t think Sunshine was always evil. I guess, back when she was hatched, she was probably as cute and bald as any other bird. Then one day, she was adopted by my brother, Mike. He had what in polite circles was called ‘a good ol boy sense of humor.’ What this meant was you had a parrot who could open a beer can, swear, and play pranks like most redneck boys around here.

I still didn’t know what had possessed him to buy her. He’d gotten her during his freshman year of college from a friend and once he graduated and started his so-demandng-why-don’t-youtake-my-Christmas-gifts-to-Mom-and-Dad-this-year-sis-job at one of the financial firms in the city he didn’t have enough time for her. Typical man. So she lived with me now. I had the room and since my next-door neighbor was a retired bird enthusiast he came by, every day, to play with her for a bit. Parrots need about the same amount of attention as five-year-old children. They’re a lot like men that way.

I put my bag containing the leftover cinnabon on the counter, and opened the fridge while surveying my kitchen. The rest of the house, despite its high ceilings and open rooms, was quite small. It was why I’d gotten a deal on the house, and used what money had been left over to remodel the kitchen, and it was my pride and joy. Stainless steel appliances, a convection double oven, and in the middle an island with my knives and cookware laid out in precise order, aside from the parrot standing between them, now looking hungrily at the cinnabon bag.

“Not for you.” I scolded. She squawked and flapped back over to my head. I felt her settle down and sighed. When people say to other people ‘your hair looks like a bird’s nest’ it’s only because they haven’t met someone whose hair is an actual bird’s nest.

Despite the fact I’d already had a snack, I slid the lasagna dish from the fridge, set my oven, and popped it in, waiting for the rich aroma of the sauce and spices to fill the house. Sunshine, deciding things had gotten too quiet, started to sing ’99 bottles of beer on the wall’. One day, I would have revenge on my brother.