Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [83]
Liza now had a friend unable to stop her advances. She spent hours preening it, gradually stripping it of its plumage while, untouched, hers began to grow through.
However, much to our disappointment, she still demanded attention from us. So the screeching never stopped. It began to wear us down.
I took to walking round with wax plugs wedged in my ears. Lucy wore ear muffs. But when Joan popped round and I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, I realised something more constructive had to be done.
I tried the garden centre again but their aviary was now full. The theatrical outfitters began to feature more and more in my thoughts. Liza, resplendent now in her new white plumage, would be a taxidermist’s delight.
‘Don’t be so cruel,’ reprimanded Lucy. ‘Liza just needs human company all the time … someone who’s potty about birds.’
‘And deaf,’ I shouted.
‘Try asking Beryl,’ mouthed Lucy, ramming her ear muffs back down again as Liza started to join in the conversation.
‘Let me think,’ said Beryl when I broached the subject with her over a cigarette at the back door. ‘There’s the vicar over at Chawcombe – Charles Venables.’
‘Not the one whose dog I gave first prize to at the fête?’
‘Reverend Charles, yes. The Venables are potty about parrots. They’ve got four of their own. Surprised they haven’t been in to see you yet.’
I wasn’t. Not after that débâcle last August.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ queried Lucy when I told her of the Venables’ love of parrots.
‘It doesn’t seem fair to burden someone else with Liza’s screeching.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be so soft. You say they’ve got four parrots already, so I doubt if an extra squawk here or there will make any difference. Go on, give them a ring.’
‘But really, I’d hate any comebacks.’
‘Ring them.’
It was Liza who jolted me into action. She decided we’d done enough squawking of our own and joined in. It was a particularly piercing screech. How such little vocal cords could produce that intensity of noise I couldn’t imagine. She must have puffed up her little lungs to their maximum capacity and let rip with all the power she could muster since the sound that vibrated through her larynx was like an express train’s whistle as it thundered out of a tunnel. I flinched, despite my ear plugs.
‘Right, That’s it. I’ve had enough,’ I roared, storming out to snatch up the phone while prising out a plug.
As it turned out, the Venables were only too pleased to have Liza. I made the excuse she needed constant company.
‘My dear, don’t you worry,’ gushed Mrs Venables as Liza was installed in their drawing room. ‘She’ll get all the company she needs. And I can’t tell you how delighted we are to have a cockatoo. She’s an absolute poppet. Just look at that beautiful plumage of hers.’
‘Yes, she is pretty,’ I admitted. ‘But she is prone to the odd squawk.’
‘My good man, don’t you worry about that,’ said Reverend Charles with a beaming smile. It seemed he’d put the summer fête behind him. Either that or the fact he was getting a cockatoo for free was making him more solicitous. ‘We have to put up with a lot of chatter from the others.’ He turned and waved at the rest of his flock.
Balanced on their own occasional tables were four large, stainless-steel parrot cages. Eight beady eyes stared intently out from them; two pairs of African Greys, two pairs of Amazon Greens.
‘And quite the little congregation they are, too, bless their hearts.’ The vicar tilted his head to one side – why do vicars do that? – and added, ‘ I must confess that I read my sermons out to them.’
‘That soon shuts them up,’ said his wife.
‘Thank you, my dear.’ The vicar’s head snapped back up and his lips tightened like a piece of string. The parrots remained silent. Even Liza was cowed.
I hurried from the vicarage, offering up thanks for my salvation and just prayed there’d be no repercussions.
When I next saw Reverend Charles it was in Westcott’s pet shop where he was buying a sack of parrot mix. I thought he looked