He’s not stunned, nor is he pining for the fjords. He’s passed on. He has ceased to be. He’s expired and gone to meet its maker. He is a late budgie. He’s bereft of life. He rests in peace. He’s run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible….
We were just having dinner when we heard a mad flap of wings – not uncommon – then a set of squeaks that sounded like one of Byron’s toys but tapering off – that was uncommon. We looked and Pops was lying on the bottom of his cage, feet up.
We’re sad and not sad. We’ve been expecting this for a while now. He’s been pleasant background noise since we got him. We’ve never been able to interact with him since we got him and his mate 10 years ago – and he wasn’t a spring budgie even back then. He’s survived on benevolent neglect and his inner anger with everything and everyone for years. The only thing he seemed to like was having a cat sleep on his cage and trying to outsing the outside birds and be louder than the ambient noise level.
I am going to miss him – the flat will definitively be quieter. I won’t have to mute my videoconf calls anymore because the bird is too shrill and it hurts people’s ears. But at the same time it might get too quiet at times.