Meet Mr. Chirpy by Secondsister
Mr. Chirpy flew in from who knows where two weeks ago.
If pressed to speculate, I would say he is probably from one of the Bible Belt states like Alabama or Mississippi where people really like to talk. Also, I have detected a slight twang to his vernacular.
Mr. Chirpy is single and unsatisfied. It's hard to form relationships when you travel as much as he does. And then there's the extra ten pounds he's been carrying, no doubt from eating on the road all the time. And also there is his awkward bumbling nature to take into account.
My best guess is that Mr. Chirpy heard about the large population of immigrants here in Southern California. No need to go all the way to Asia to find a mate. There are plenty of lookers migrating up and down the West Coast. Surely he could find a partner here. A little Latina maybe?
He could teach her American culture. She could teach him Spanish.
As my luck would have it, Mr. Chirpy took leave of his normal life to take up residence in my ornamental plumb tree. It has been very unpleasant for me to say the least.
Freed from his regular responsibilities, Mr. Chirpy has thrown himself full force into the night life of San Diego County. He's become a real night owl, a full fledged party animal, that one.
He gets things going around ten and he doesn't drag his pudgy little body back to the nest until the sun crests the horizon.
All through the midnight hours he serenades. He cat calls. He uses his entire repertoire to lure his little senorita.
I've come to hate Mr. Chirpy with all my being.
And although I have always been repulsed by the very idea of owning a gun, I'm a little tempted.
I think a b.b. gun would be just the thing. A few shots in the air, maybe one in his general direction, should be enough to scare this chatty squatter off my land.
But the problem is, not being a gun person myself, the problem is that I'm not a good shot.
And something might happen. Yes, I think something might accidentally happen.
So I want you all to know, dear readers, if something were to happen, if a bullet were to find its way to Mr. Chirpy's vocal cords, I would dash out of the house straight away (right after I found some plastic gloves of course), and hold Mr. Chirpy in my hands as he gasps his last breath.
And I would whisper softly in his ear, "Go towards the light Mr. Chirpy. Paradise awaits."