7 days of the condor i mean parrot

Day One: My feminist cousin Pauline seems awfully amused about something as I drop into her healthy eating store to acquire some provisions. Shortly she can contain herself no longer. "Cousin Celeste is planning to give you a parrot," she explains. "Her boyfriend bought it for their niece. But Rowena won't have a parrot in the house. Naturally they thought of you. Don't tell them I tipped you off."
Day Two: "Will you take a parrot off my hands?"
The voice was that of cousin Celeste.
She had approached me on Main Street Kilcullen amid the flighty bustle of Spring shoppers.
She seemed to be in some agitation.
"I'd be delighted," I tell her.
I remembered a bit late to try to act surprised by her request.
"What's going on," I said all Laurence Olivier. "Why are you giving me a parrot?"
Celeste was not convinced by my comic stylings.
"How did you know?" she demanded.
"Pauline told me," I blurted.
Celeste nodded biogeneticsciencely.
"You're doing me a big favour taking this thing," she said. "Now I've got to go talk to Pauline."
Day Three: Cousin Paulline's husband Paul phones me. He has the parrot in his car and is wondering would now be a good time to deliver him. I ask what the parrot looks like.
"He is full of rich irridescent hues," answers Paul.
I am a bit worried by this.
Rich irredescent hues could mean he's a South American Blue And Gold Macaw. These are the hardest parrots to care for.
For a start they're the biggest parrot and can live for a hundred years.
They have the loudest shriek in the animal world which they use extensively at first light of dawn and at the going down of dusk.
They also tend to have a lot of anger because their natural habitat is flying above the tree line of the Amazon forest shouting "Raukkkkk," and someone has taken them from there to live in a room in the greyest wettest country in Europe.
Paul arrives at the Chateau De Healy with the parrot.
We smuggle him in to the front room and remove the cover from his cage.
He's not that big.
A glorified budgie really.
He is grey.
Not an African grey.
Just grey.
I looked somewhat bemusedly at Paul.
I'm wondering what happened to multicoloured.
Back in Paul's native country Wales, no doubt they think grey is multicoloured. I could imagine Paul's countrymen regularly emerging from the coal mines and exclaiming: "Thank God for this day. Have you ever seen such rich beautiful irridescent shades of gray!"
I kept this to myself.
Day Five: I have my doubts that South American Blue And Gold Macaws are really the loudest parrots in creation. Our newcomer Parrot McGarret could raise the dead with his morning and evening shrieks.
Day Six: I am in my cousin Rowena's house.
My cousin Rowena's daughter Lisa was the original intended recipient for Parrot McGarret who nixed the idea on account of not wanting a parrot. Lucky for me. That parrot has now become an indispensable part of my life. In fact he has quite literally become part of the furniture at the chateau. I mean he eats the furniture. He loves a bit of armchair topped off with a dollop of curtain. He doesn't just restrict himself to furniture either. He is a parrot of verve and originality. It is clearly one of his greatest joys to settle down at night with a good book, that is to say any book I happen to leave unattended within reach of him which he will promptly masticate like it was cordon bleu parrot food.
But I digress.
My American cousin Brianne is teaching Rowena's daughter Lisa to dance.
Brianne is doing moves taken from the pop music videos of a performer known as Shakira.
Rowena spots what's happening and cries out: "No Shakira in this house."
When the dust clears I ask hopefully: "Does that mean you're going to move Shakira in to live with me!"
Day Seven: ... (That's enough days. - Ed note)