Angry Bird

Do you have a favourite toy?

This angry bird was my favourite toy. My best friend. I don't know why it was my favourite.

There were two; one was this blue bird with angry eyes, the other was a red one with a pointed beak. Both were angry. They weren't called "Angry Birds" as they would be subject to a copyright lawsuit. No, these were called "Grumpy Birds" or "Disgruntled Oiseaus" or some such thing. But for some reason only known to me, this blue disjointed mass of thread, cotton, and dangly legs was my best friend.

I'd bring him everywhere.

I'd make these weird sounds with him in my mouth, and I'd take him by the head and with his legs and feet dangling and swaying with every prance of mine, I'd trot around the house with him, showing my mom my fresh kill. He'd come with me to eat, and I'd even try to feed him once in a while; my mom would find him face down in my food bowl or water bowl, and occasionally she'd have to put him out to dry. Mom would find him in her bed, or at the back door, by my litter box, in the garden, or on the windowsill.

Sometimes I'd even just plop it at her feet.

Sometimes I'd plop it at the feet of other humans. They would rarely know what to do with my Angry Bird. I'd never tell them, of course. Sometimes they'd throw it, and I'd stare back at them with contempt. Sometimes they'd NOT throw it, and I'd stare at them with contempt. Sometimes they'd praise me for my amazing kill, and I'd stare at them with contempt, but secretly knowing they were right, because YES, I AM a fearless and efficient hunter.

No one loved that Angry Bird like me.