I’ve always had a way with birds, pigeons in particular.
Whenever Rachelle sees me on video, she says that the nervous way I twitch my head and jerk my body around reminds her of a pigeon, and wonders if I might have been one in a previous life.
Maybe, I don’t know.
However, it is true that pigeons have always been attracted to me, and that we seem, on some level, be able to communicate. Our new apartment on Queen Street East has a kind of enclosed veranda. The pigeons like this area, and have created a small “pigeon village” there. I’ve become quite friendly with them, discovering that they love to be fed corn chips.
At any rate, I’ve named three of them—Excalibur, Beverly and Dennis—who sometimes follow me about when I take Heidi for a walk.
Seriously, I feel like they’re my aerial protectors.
As most of you know, Rachelle and I have been missing an integral part of our family for the last two weeks. His name is Mr. Peanut, and he is a taxidermied squirrel who was abducted by our “friend’ (NOT) Jillian on Halloween. She has refused to return him to us, claiming that he prefers spending time with her.
The police and RCMP have been uncooperative at this point, and so, as much as I hate vigilantism, I have decided to take matters into my own hands. I believe that I can get my pigeon friends—Excalibur, Beverly and Dennis—to take up residence on Jillian’s back deck, which is her stupid pride and joy. I mean, she is constantly running around cleaning the stupid thing, and then bragging about it, and then cleaning it again, and if I threaten her with a pigeon infestation, I am sure she will break and return Mr. Peanut to me.
This is the letter I sent to her:
Dear Bitch:
If you do not return Mr. Peanut to me immediately, I am going to order a pigeon infestation on your precious deck.
I have the power to do such a thing.
The pigeons will be everywhere, and I will order them to use your deck as a lavatory, and to invite all their friends over for a big pigeon party—maybe even start a pigeon frat house. You can avoid the pain of Squab Storm, if you simply return Mr. Peanut to his rightful home.
Also, it was very low-rent of you to ask me out to lunch at Noodle King, and then not show up.
Not classy.
You are a bitch, and your nose runs all the time.
Michael Murray
And this is her response:
Michael:
You’re a Noodle King!
Lunch was to be at King’s Noodle House on Spadina, as I told you, and not Noodle King on Queen. It was at King’s Noodle House, where I waited for an hour, that I had planned on giving you Mr. Peanut.
Honestly, Michael, I had no idea you were so high-strung. I thought all of this was just a joke, something you were doing for fun for your blog, and I just thought I’d play along. I had no idea you had such serious mental issues, ( although Rachelle has hinted at it). Michael, I do like you, and I urge you, as a friend, to seek out some help.
Jillian
You might notice that in her note, she said nothing about returning Mr. Peanut.