Dead Bird

 

When I came home from visiting my parents, my house was like a sauna. Three days of no AC in the hundred-degree heat will make inanimate objects look like they’re fighting for their life.

After I turned on the air, I walked into the kitchen and saw bird feathers scattered about like a pillow exploded. I knew it wasn’t a pillow, but the work of my savage cat, Midnight. Bird poop was speckled about the floor like a Jackson Pollock, but I didn’t find the bird.

I cleaned up the crime scene and assumed the cat took the bird back outside after she used my kitchen as a canvas for a kindergartener’s art project.

Right as I peeled off my yellow kitchen gloves, the power went out. This is common when it gets hot, and I used the last bit of daylight to get myself sorted. Most of the time, when the power goes out, my phone battery is at 15% so I can’t watch Netflix. I read by flashlight, nodding in and out of sleep, while sweat beads on my forehead. It looks like I’m fighting Malaria, but it’s just a night without modern amenities.

The next morning, with power restored, I drank my coffee and googled “What does it mean to find a dead bird in a house?” Even though I didn’t find the dead bird. I’m superstitious, and I hoped this was a sign of good fortune.

I ended up on Reddit, the last place on the internet that isn’t taken over by robots. There are conflicting opinions on the dead bird, so I skipped over the “bad omens” comments and read the “new beginnings” comments.

After being validated by unqualified whack-a-doos, I moved on to my favorite subreddit,  /witches. I am not a witch, nor have I tried witchy practices, but it’s wildly entertaining; them witches be crazy.

If I were a witch, I’d sleep on a bed made of gold bars, look like Margot Robbie, and pay off everyone’s houses. These witches are struggling to make ends meet and are devastated by some asshole in their lives. It’s a lot like the old soap opera Passions.

It’s not all entertainment. Sometimes I pick up a piece of useful information. When my daughter goes off on someone, I stop her before she goes full-Midnight and say, “Don’t wish anything bad on someone because it can come back on you times three.”

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, because she believed me.

My daughter likes Reddit too, and uses my phone to leave comments on American Dad and Taylor Swift subs. This type of activity is immediately disqualifying me from any serious corporate position, but I probably already did that with the Witch sub. Take that, Big Brother.

The most treasured app of my children is YouTube. After they came home from their dad’s, they were laughing about a song. They played it for me, and I took it in like a media analyst. I said, “That is very funny… but it seems preeeetty racist. I guess it all depends on what the guy looks like who made it.”

They don’t see it that way. Like true free-speechers, they weren’t going to let a good look in the horse’s mouth legitimize its humor. 

I repeated one line from the lyrics as an example of questionable intent, but the way I said it sounded more like I agreed. They laughed at me, and G said, “I’m going to tell my dad.”

“Go ahead.” I added, “Your dad is the most racist person I know… that’s why I married him.”

While we all giggled, my attention was pulled to a white drop of paint, like Jackson Pollock, on top of a couch cushion. I looked around and saw a few more. I leaned my head over the side of the couch, and there lay a dead bird.

“Oh my God! There’s a dead bird! This is fantastic!”

They rushed over to get a good look. I picked it up with an old Amazon package to put it in the outside trash, and said, “Do you know what this means? It’s a sign from the spirit world. We can expect new beginnings.”

Geoffrey shook his head, no, and my daughter asked to use my phone.

As I steam-cleaned the couch, I was quite impressed at how spotless my house was looking because of this dead bird. Then it dawned on me, “Is this the new beginning? A clean house!”

I heard the flap of our tiny dog door. My familiar, Midnight, coming back from God knows where.