A Sputterling Christmas

 Part One

I stopped in the living room doorway and just—stared.

A long streak of sunlight bathed the area in a bright glow, which was remarkable in itself following weeks of grey and gloom. But what really caught my attention was that there, in the center of said glow, huddled a smelly old bird. In a cage.

Reginald had come home. 

For a moment, the two of us eyed each other. 

Okay I admit it, even though we have, at times, shared accommodations—the most recent being at Cousin Edith’s house—we have never really been friends.

He ruffled up his feathers and croaked something that sounded like ‘smelly old broad’.

I narrowed my eyes, then tried to infuse some enthusiasm into, “Hello, Reggie, old boy. You’re home!” I don't think I nailed it because he immediately turned his back, shook his feathers and shot out a great, white glob which, with impressive accuracy, completely missed the pristine paper in the bottom of his cage and landed on the shining clean floorboards at my feet.

“Did you see?” Norma bustled into the room behind me. “Reggie has come home!” She noticed the great gob on the otherwise spotless floor.  “Oh! Reggie you little rascal!” She turned back toward the kitchen. “I’ll just get—”

What she was going to get was left to Reggie’s and my imagination. He had slicked his feathers and was looking toward the empty doorway--hope for possible treats in his round, dark eyes. I, on the other hand, was pretty sure her abrupt departure had something to do with bird poop.

He and I never have existed on the same plane.

I took a chair on the other side of the room, as far from the upcoming action as I could get, and picked up a magazine.

Norma scurried back into the room and I smirked at Reggie. I was right. She was carrying the anticipated bucket of warm, soapy water and a sponge. And, inexplicably, the star for our Christmas tree.

She dropped the star into my lap, then carefully lowered herself to the floor and attacked Reggie’s welcome home gift.

I picked up the star and stared at it. Then looked at her. Well, at her broad backside, which was all I could see. “Ummm—Norma?”

“It’s for—the tree—dear.” Her words were slightly muffled and punctuated by her cleaning efforts.

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting—the tree and—stuff out.” She sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the wrist of the hand holding the sponge. “It is December.”

“Yeah,” I said again. “But why did you bring it in here?”

She looked at me and frowned. “I don’t know.” She shuffled a bit on her knees, the held up a hand. “Could you please—?”

I sighed, got to my feet and helped Norma to hers, then followed her into the kitchen where she deposited her bucket. From there I trailed her to the sitting room where our tree sat in lonely glory in one corner, flanked by numerous boxes.

“See?” she pointed.

I set the star on a table and moved to sit in the one big armchair.

“Nooo!” she shrieked. “That’s for her!”

I paused halfway to sitting and blinked. “Her?”

Norma nodded. “Her.”

“Ummm—Norma?”

She smiled. “Well I’ve spoken to Frosty at the department store, written to Santa, even begged Krampus and the Grinch, who obviously must know her—”

I straightened and looked at her. “Okay?”

“Well, it's fairly certain by now we're never going to get her to leave. So I’ve decided that the only way we are going to have our beautiful white Christmas is to invite her.” Her smile widened. “Christmas is for sharing. That’s why I brought Reggie home. Oh, and Edith is coming, too.”

I turned toward the door.
“Where are you going? I need your help!”

I shook my head. “You’ve spoken to all of your imaginary friends. I’m going to call Batman.”

One of us needs to keep a foot in the real world.