Now appearing daily at Bob and Donna’s Wild Life Cafe...
*********drum roll, bitte*********************
A Blue Jay.
No. Honest and true.
After our herd of stray cats, Rocco, Gaston and Greta, finish their respective breakfasts, Sigfried lightly sets down on the very edge of the Kibbles ‘n’ Bits plate for his turn at snarfing down the morning vittles.
The first few times I saw him gobbling up the early AM grub, he was all nervous -- molto anxiously looking around after every single peck. It was as though he was all afeared that Old Man Grant or Old Lady Maderer was gonna storm out, any second now, to yell ‘Hey, get your goddamned beak outta that cheap ass cat food! No, I don’t care how hungry you are -- get gone!’
Not bloody likely seeing as Bob and I have been known to look on fondly, if nervously when Rocky, (raccoon -- of course), and Flower, (skunk -- you knew that one though), chow down. We draw the line at letting them come inside though. Yep, we have standards, alright. Yes indeedy we do.
Besides, Coco won't allow it.
Still and all -- how could Sigfried know this for sure? He had the agitato tweaks to rival any pro meth head. Yep, he had those for a whole day, maybe two. Didn’t take long for him to get used to the berobed, grinning frowzy broad, standing just inside the door watching him blimp out.
Here’s how you can tell when you’re giving Saint Francis of Assisi a run for his money. This morning, when I went to the door to see what Wildtiere we were currently featuring at the Valhalla All You Can Eat Diner and Wildlife Sanctuary, there was Sigfried -- calm as could be, like he’d just smoked a big fatty (blue jays are notorious potheads, you know). He looked up at me and, honest and true, signs (in blue jay versus pigeon sign or straight up ASL) ‘more please -- I gotta big day ahead of me.’ Signs to that effect anyway -- swear to god!
Mind you, it’s the same look that our feline customers give me when they’re feeling especially peckish so I’ve seen it before.
Blue Jay Way -- The Beatles
*********drum roll, bitte*********************
Sigfried |
No. Honest and true.
Flower |
The first few times I saw him gobbling up the early AM grub, he was all nervous -- molto anxiously looking around after every single peck. It was as though he was all afeared that Old Man Grant or Old Lady Maderer was gonna storm out, any second now, to yell ‘Hey, get your goddamned beak outta that cheap ass cat food! No, I don’t care how hungry you are -- get gone!’
Not bloody likely seeing as Bob and I have been known to look on fondly, if nervously when Rocky, (raccoon -- of course), and Flower, (skunk -- you knew that one though), chow down. We draw the line at letting them come inside though. Yep, we have standards, alright. Yes indeedy we do.
Besides, Coco won't allow it.
Still and all -- how could Sigfried know this for sure? He had the agitato tweaks to rival any pro meth head. Yep, he had those for a whole day, maybe two. Didn’t take long for him to get used to the berobed, grinning frowzy broad, standing just inside the door watching him blimp out.
Here’s how you can tell when you’re giving Saint Francis of Assisi a run for his money. This morning, when I went to the door to see what Wildtiere we were currently featuring at the Valhalla All You Can Eat Diner and Wildlife Sanctuary, there was Sigfried -- calm as could be, like he’d just smoked a big fatty (blue jays are notorious potheads, you know). He looked up at me and, honest and true, signs (in blue jay versus pigeon sign or straight up ASL) ‘more please -- I gotta big day ahead of me.’ Signs to that effect anyway -- swear to god!
Rocco |
Blue Jay Way -- The Beatles
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