Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [77]
‘She’ll quieten down.’ I bundled Liza back into her cage. She rolled over and lay momentarily on her back, silent, her chest heaving, the pimply skin pulsating in time to her heart, her head out of sight in the cone. Suddenly, with a thrash of her legs, she flipped over, doing a complete somersault to land precisely in the same position again. With scarcely a pause, she did it again … and again.
Lucy began to giggle. ‘She’s flipped her lid,’ she said.
‘Shh … it’s no laughing matter,’ I said. But I could feel a bubble of laughter welling up in my throat.
Liza spun over three times, hit the metal bars of the cage, gripped, and blindly climbed her way up, the cone crashing wildly from side to side, slamming against food hoppers and bars alike. She reached the top and stopped, her head out of sight, the cone pressed up against the roof of the cage. She suddenly relaxed her grip and shot rapidly down the bars.
By now Lucy was convulsed with giggles, her eyes streaming.
‘Shh … shh …’ I implored, ‘Mrs Smethurst might hear you.’ But the bubble of laughter in my throat was about to burst out. I rammed my knuckles into my mouth as I tried to stop it.
Meanwhile, Liza had clawed her way back up and dropped down again. Only to zoom back up and spiral down yet again. She was like an animated yo-yo. Up, down … up, down.
Ha, ha, ha … out poured the laughter … hee, hee, hee … Oh dear God … please … but no, it was uncontrollable. I was as helpless as a kitten, splitting my sides. Lucy, too, was squirming and writhing, an explosion of giggles. We hopped and skipped round the prep room, bent over, arms wrapped tightly round our chests. Ha, ha, ha … hee, hee, hee … impossible to stop. Oh deary me, what a laugh … what a scream.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
The voice was sharp and crystal clear. Crystal Sharpe’s to be precise. The door had been thrown open and she was standing there looking at us. Unlike us, she was not amused; far from it.
I reeled to a halt.
‘S-s-sorry, Crystal,’ I spluttered. ‘It’s just that …’ my voice rose to squeak, ‘it’s just that …’ my voice rose even higher … tee, hee, hee … I caught sight of Liza now standing on her head, the cone acting as a base, her naked legs pedalling the air above her. It was all too much. Another wave of giggles spilled out – tee, he, he …
‘It’s not funny,’ snapped Crystal, marching over to the cage where she reached in and turned Liza the right way up. ‘There’s a client up in reception wondering what all the commotion is about. I take it this is her bird?’
I nodded, my sides aching, my eyes feeling swollen and bleary.
‘Well, you’d better go and explain yourself,’ continued Crystal. With that, she spun on her heels and stormed out. Whoops. There goes my Julie Andrews.
Mrs Smethurst was dubious when she saw her collared cockatoo. ‘Are you sure she’s not going to harm herself?’ she queried.
‘No … really. I think she’ll get used to it quite soon,’ I replied with more conviction than I felt. ‘But if there are any problems please don’t hesitate to get in contact.’
She did, five hours later, when I’d just got into bed.
Mandy was on night duty and phoned to say Mrs Smethurst thought Liza was dying.
My feet hit the floor with a thud.
‘Not that damned parrot again,’ mumbled Lucy, next to me.
‘Cockatoo,’ I corrected, hopping around as I struggled into my jeans. ‘Mrs Smethurst thinks she’s snuffing it.’
‘Plucked herself to death, shouldn’t wonder,’ yawned Lucy, snuggling back down under the duvet.
By the time I’d driven to Prospect House, Mandy had let Mrs Smethurst in and the cage was on the consulting table.
‘So much for your collar,’ said Mrs Smethurst. ‘It’s done for Liza.’
I peered into the cage. Liza was lying prostrate on the floor, motionless, her claws tucked into the neck of the cone, her chest heaving in small, spasmodic jerks. I unbolted the cage door and dragged the bird out. She lay in the palm of my hand without a struggle, not a murmur, not a squawk. It really seemed she was on her last legs.
‘Legs,’ I exclaimed.
Mrs Smethurst frowned, her