I can't think about my vacation in Los Angeles, because every happy memory conjures up a horrifying picture of how Cassie was dying at the same time, how she was dying and I wasn't here to do anything about it. My roommates couldn't tell she was sick. I would have been able to tell. I knew her.

I can't handle seeing an animal in pain-- any animal. This was not just any animal. It was Cassie, my friend, who loved and trusted me, and who suffered because I didn't make the right choices. Maybe I shouldn't blame myself, because I did do what I felt to be right at the time.

Believe me, if I told the story of what happened the night she died, I could break your heart.

I don't want to tell that story.

So, I have a new parakeet.

I know it must seem ludicrously soon, but Pigwidgeon tweeted for five solid hours yesterday morning. He's never bonded with me as a human, he's always wanted another bird to bond with. And it was for Pidgie, rather than for myself, that I went out and got another bird so quickly.

Which bird to get? It was a difficult decision to make. I knew I wanted a girl bird, since Pigwidgeon is a boy. Many of the birds at the store (Wet Pets, my favorite pet store) looked friendly and healthy. Two of them had coloring very similar to Cassie's, and one of them almost won me over (friendly and healthy looking) but I ultimately decided I shouldn't get another yellow bird. I was looking at two other birds, one that was blue and black, and one that was green on top, yellow on the bottom.

Neither of them seemed right, though. I was leaning towards the yellow one again, probably for the wrong reasons, and I walked around the store, and came back, and saw a bird that must have been hiding in a corner, because I hadn't seen her before. I immediately got a good vibe from her. She seemed friendly and looked like a young, healthy bird. Also, she's olive. I've never seen an olive colored parakeet before.

Her name is Phoebe. I will try and take a picture sometime soon.

Pigwidgeon has been flying around, sitting on the top of the cage, tweeting, tilting his head at her-- basically pulling out all the stops, in an effort to woo her. So far, Phoebe seems receptive. She's still a little nervous, but she's been eating some millet and climbing her cage to be as close to Pigwidgeon as possible.

I just looked over there to see something cute. Both birds have climbed the walls of their cages to get closer, and they're chirping at each other.

It might be love, guys. It just might be love.

Today, I feel like sitting in my room doing a whole lot of nothing. I'm so spacey; I'm no good at talking to people or interacting with them right now. I watched State and Main this morning, and now I'm watching it again, with commentary. I plan to move on to Mansfield Park, the other movie I bought yesterday. I plan to stare at the birds and take some comfort in their antics. I plan to finish Lolita and do my mini-book review.

I may do some laundry, I may unpack, I may clean my room, I may eat at some point. I can't vacuum, even though the floor needs it, because I don't want to freak out New Bird. I have a ton of movie reviews I can write, since I saw about a zillion movies over my vacation. There's an idea.

But the other thing I have to do today is bury my little bird. The whole family is going to be there (Leah and Jane left a condolence card outside my door today) and we're going to bury her in the back yard. I'm not looking forward to that, although having her in a shoebox is not exactly cheerful either.

Whenever I sit at the computer desk, I have a constant awareness of the birds behind me in the room. I was not conscious of this until Cassie died, and my awareness became a constant tug of grief. It was strange to have one bird again, albeit briefly. Having two is better, even though Cassie's presence is missed.

Maybe having Phoebe is healing after all. But Cassie can never, will never be replaced. She was my friend, in the way that only the most special animal can be. I loved her as much as it is possible for a person to love a bird. Which, although it may seem silly to some people, is a lot.

Dear Cassie
You are yellow, like daffodils,
It is a tremendous thing
to be a small bird
in this room,
the world
they say the soul is a bird
Is it so delicate?
So elegant?
As you?

"But we were speaking of Cassie, who is most assuredly not mistreated. In fact, she’s a spoiled little bird if I ever saw one."