Markie stared back, unblinking. Judging me.
I exhaled. “How do you know that?”
Bobbi shrugged. “I read a lot. Also, I notice patterns.”
“In birds?”
“And people,” she said. “He watches you more than the boxes.”
Markie clicked once, sharp.
Bobbi nodded. “See.”
I didn’t enjoy having a child and a parrot analyze me in my own living room.
“He’s not pretending everything is fine,” Bobbi added. “He doesn’t know how.”
That landed where I didn’t want it to.
I lifted the box again. “Great. My bird is my emotional support animal and my supervisor.”
From the cage, Markie screamed, “PLEASE HOLD, MOTHERFUCKER.”
Bobbi nodded toward him. “See. He agrees.”
“I didn’t ask for commentary,” I said as I went outside.
When I came back inside, Markie had settled, his feathers down and in place.
Bobbi stood still. Then raised two fingers in a small salute.
Markie clicked once.
Bobbi froze. “Oh my god.”
“That’s approval,” I said. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Bobbi grinned. Then she said, “You sound tired.”
“I took a trip with friends, and now I’m moving. Of course I’m tired.”
“Was it fun?”
I paused and thought it over. “Yes. It was.”
Markie fluffed his wings once and turned his back on both of us. It was either closure or annoyance. With him, it was hard to tell.
Bobbi leaned against the counter. “I like him.”
“He tolerates you,” I said. “Which is very rare for him.”
From the cage, Markie said, “ASS.”
Bobbi nodded. “Affectionate.”
I reached for another box and didn’t look at her.
“You just… appear places?” I asked. “No one tracking your movements. No curfew. No adult mildly concerned about your existence?”
