The minute Sandi walked into her own house, a screech came from up the hall. “Helllp! Helllp! Lemme out! Lemme out!”
She rolled her eyes. The screamer was Jake.
Along with his screeches, a distinct odor met her. When she had agreed to take him, she hadn’t considered that he would make her whole house stink. Thus, she left the door to his room closed all day. He made a big enough mess in his room. No way did she want him flying around and pooping at random in the other five rooms. She had watched a video on YouTube about potty training a parrot, but so far, she hadn’t had much success.
“Just hold on, Jake.”
Waffle trotted up the hallway, anxiously looked up at the closed door, then swung his gaze back to Sandi, his tail wagging. Waffle and Jake were pals. Jake liked riding on Waffle’s back.
She opened the bedroom door, checked the floor in case Jake might have left something for her to step in and walked in. She opened the window to let fresh air into the room, then snapped one end of a tether around Jake’s leg and the other around her wrist.
“Waffle’s a pretty boy, Waffle’s a pretty boy,” Jake squawked. “Move your hand. Move your hand. Don’t touch my knee. Don’t touch me.”
Sandi arched her brow and sighed. She could only conclude that Jake had learned sentences like that listening to the goings-on in the bar from which the SPCA had rescued him.
Waffle barked and whined.
With Jake riding on her shoulder and Waffle following, Sandi walked through the house to the kitchen, gathered a plastic bowl full of treats and continued on through her back door. Waffle bounded to the middle of the back yard. She let Ricky and Fred out of their pen and they joined him in rough and tumble play.
Once, her backyard had a nice lawn, but no more. With so many animals passing through, she had given up on lawn maintenance. A full quarter of the yard was fenced off with chicken wire to make a pen for the various large dogs that had passed through her life. In the other back corner, she’d had a small aviary built for Jake. On her days off, she parked him in it so he could be outside and get fresh air.
She moved through the yard petting and scruffing heads, checking water levels and handing out treats.
“Where’s mine? Where’s mine?” Jake squawked.
“I’ve got a muffin for you,” Sandi said and handed him a small muffin she made herself just for him.
Fred, her lab-Rottweiler mixed breed, and Waffle, an unknown mix of breeds, darted around, ducking behind tree trunks as if they were playing tag. Out in a corner of the yard, Sophie, Snow White and Dominique pecked for bugs while Christian Grey, her one-eyed rooster, pecked at Dominique. Pablo, her poor little jittery Chihuahua sat trembling beside her.
Sylvester, her tuxedo cat, sat on her opposite side, calmly bathing and grooming himself. The poor thing had been starved, losing his hair and only minutes away from being euthanized when Sandi rescued him. Now, after living in a safe environment and eating a diet of healthy food, handmade by Sandi herself, and a daily dose of vitamins, his coat was soft and glossy and he looked like a show cat.
From her shoulder, Jake watched the cat and cooed sweetly. “Pretty pussy. Pretty pussy.”
Sandi’s brow arched. She didn’t know if Jake’s words were directed at the cat because after all, Sylvester was a pretty cat. She sighed. She would never know what Jake meant, which probably was just as well.
Back inside the house, she tethered Jake to a perch she kept near the back door, then started to leave the room for her own bedroom. Jake made a haunting sound as if he were in agony. “Nooo. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me. Torture, torture. I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”
“You are not being tortured, Jake. I’ll be back in a minute.” She started for her bedroom again, shaking her head as she walked. She had to relocate Jake to a new home. No way could they share a house long-term. She didn’t have the time he required and he was worse than a nagging husband.
In the bedroom, she changed into her comfy jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of flip-flops, at the same time, watching the animals play from her bedroom window. She so longed for a place in the country and a few acres. Then the animals she already had would have more room and she could take on larger animals. A small city home was too crowded for as many animals as she had and Richard always complained about the smell.
Richard! Ohmygod! She was supposed to have returned his call hours ago. Oh, well, he could wait until later. She needed to go to Fiona’s house and quiz her about Nick Conway.
She left her house and crossed the front lawn to her neighbor’s, who was singing along with Michael Bublé. “Let me go hooome...”
“Fiona, child, leave the singing to Michael and gimme me some of what you’re drinking,” Sandi said.
“Done,” Fiona replied, reaching behind herself and producing another plastic cocktail glass. She tilted the pitcher and filled the glass to the top. “Oops, got it too full. Here, let me sip a little off the top.” She leaned and sucked deeply on the green froth, then thrust the glass to Sandi. “Here. Have a margarita, neighbor.”
“Uh, okay, thanks.” Sandi took the glass.
“How’s Jake?” Fiona asked.
“He’s fine. Why do you ask?”
“You know ol’ bubble-butt up the street? Jake whistled at her today and called her a sweet piece.”
Bubble-butt was the name Fiona had given to Stephanie Cummings, their cranky neighbor who constantly complained about Fiona’s partying and Sandi’s pets. Stephanie even sometimes called the cops when Fiona and her friends were especially loud.
When Sandi had taken in Sophie and Snow White, Stephanie had made an issue with the city council, but Sandi had pleaded for sympathy for the
