My paternal great-grandmother raised parakeets.
Whenever we went to her house, I would stand beside the bird cage and watch them. They fascinated me. It was the only time I ever got to observe birds up close.
One day, Grandma ‘Rene — her name was Irene, but everyone in the family called her Grandma ‘Rene — asked Monty and me if we would like to take one home.
Of course we said yes! We were so excited.
Given Mom’s slight aversion to birds, she was less enthused, but she allowed it.
Grandma gave us a cage, and we took him home.
Monty and I named him Tweety Bird after the cartoon character.
Cleaning the cage fell to Mom. She was an excellent housekeeper, so she cleaned it often. When the weather was nice, she took the cage outside and cleaned it on the sidewalk.
The last time she cleaned it… was the last time she cleaned it.
She had set the cage down on the sidewalk and slid the removable bottom out so she could clean it properly.
Unfortunately, she forgot to slide it back in before she picked up the cage.
Before she could react, Tweety Bird saw his opportunity — and he was a caged bird no more.
Mom said he flew up into the tree by the back door, but there was no way she could catch him.
He soon flew away, never to be seen again.
I think she felt bad when she had to tell us what happened when we came home from school.
We knew it was an accident, and she really did feel bad — but we couldn’t resist teasing her that we thought she did it on purpose because we knew she wasn’t fond of birds.
Through My Eyes, Gently 