I’m Like A Bird (That Landed On Our Sill)
My roommate wanted to let it into our apartment — and let it fly around, as birds are wont to do. But I said no immediately, as this is New York. If anything, it could attack us (see: The Birds).
After 20 minutes or so, the bird was still there and looked sad. I thought that maybe giving this cockatiel a sanctuary was the right thing to do. After all, most people come to New York and look for a place to belong (and other mushy cliches like that).
So I gave in, and with a laundry hamper and a cardboard box, my roommate got it to walk into its makeshift cage.
Knowing absolutely everything nothing about birds, I didn’t even know what type it was and had to google “pet bird with green mohawk.”
My roommate and I have debated constantly about getting a pet for the apartment. Our previous roommates had a dog and cat. While I spent a lot of quality time with them — I played Taylor Swift songs on the guitar and sang to the cat — the hair and smell were annoying to deal with. (But I guess so was I, playing and singing Taylor Swift.)
On top of that, we’re in our 20s, so who knows where life is going to take us. It’s a big responsibility to take care of a pet, as my mom pointed out most of my life.
Of course, all rationale is thrown out the window when a cockatiel lands on your sill.
I googled if there were wild cockatiels in New York to make sure it wasn’t feral — turns out no (told you, I know nothing about birds). So it has to have an owner. We learned that cockatiels should have mild temperaments, unless they bite at your finger — it did. I have a sad feeling the owner let it go. We’ll post up some signs, but it probably wasn’t wanted.
Though it was feisty, the bird seemed nervous and puffed itself up to look bigger constantly — it had its guard up. It hardly ate, too, which reminded me of my first day in Brooklyn. I saw through its facade as I was probably there a few months ago.
Apparently cockatiels live to be about 15 to 20 years old, and this one can’t be too old (I googled images of old ones). So either we’re foster parents of a cockatiel, or we’ll be its owners for quite some time.