The Adventures of Bella Easterbrook

It was still early, the feeble wintry rays barely penetrating through the grimy windows, when I shivered out of my troubled sleep. The pet shop was shadowy and cold, the silence interspersed with soft hisses and murmurs as the animals were waking up. Pericles and Artemisia, the pair of tortoises who lived in the terrarium, were still slumbering inside their carapaces, immobile and inert, and Aaz, the giant boa constrictor, was already in hibernation mode. Ara, the giant Amazon, was coughing and hawking, his feathers ruffled, his mien bleak. Yeah. Welcome to Montreal, heat lovers, I thought.

But I was just being snide. It was cold for me, too. The kittens and the puppies were the only ones who didn’t care. They were all rolled up in a giant ball of fur in their enclosure, snoozing away, their warm coats a good defense against the winter and the stingy owners who lowered the thermostat every time they locked up for the night. Only the sphinx cat was awake. Its predatory green eyes were set on me, unblinking and deadly, but I didn’t care. I was a bit of a fatalist. Eaten alive or dead of this cold? I didn’t know which was worse.

I jumped off my perch and drank some water, dipping my beak deep into the tray. The water tasted a bit rancid. Jake, the boy who fed us and cleaned our cages, was not particularly fond of his job and filled the birds’ water trays only when they were empty. But I knew no other life. These dingy walls, this view of the street through the dirty window pane, the rare customers, the animals who came and went as I stayed on… Nobody wanted me. Who would care for a white canary who never sings? Canaries should be bright yellow and chirrup their heads off, as if there was nothing in this life but song and food. Idiots.

Speaking of food, my seed tray was empty, and my insides were aching with hunger. So I jumped back onto my perch and looked at myself in the little mirror they hung in my cage as if I was some brainless perroquet who would die without company. I have internal dialogue, thank you very much. I just glanced at my snow white feathers, pale pink beak and black eyes, and turned away to watch the few pedestrians passing by our window at this early hour. I didn’t like looking at myself. It is a hard lot, to be albino in a world full of colour.

‘Hi, guys, how was the night?’ Jake’s voice jerked me out of deep thought. I turned my tail to the window and looked at him, as he turned the heat up and switched on the electric lights. Now we’re talking. I bristled my feathers, jumping closer to the cage bars. The rations of vitamin-laced seeds were not exactly tasty, but again, I knew no other taste but the nutty, salty flavour of the brand that the shop was buying in bulk, probably at discount.

After breakfast, I was preparing myself for yet another day of tedium, when the doorbell rang, and a young couple entered the shop. The owner, Mr. Porcellini, a short paunchy sparse-haired man, rushed to greet and help them, but they said they were just browsing. Mr. Porcellini returned to the back room, visibly discontent, leaving Jake at the counter, as the man and woman walked around, looking at us with interest.

The guys perked up, showing off their feathers and furs, and only Pericles and Artemisia stared through the terrarium glass indifferently. My hopes weren’t high. To be honest, they were nonexistent. I was used to being invisible. I just observed the hoo-ha with nonchalance, as the kittens engaged in a game of tag, the sphinx started licking itself, and Ara opened his beak and cawed out a long string of rather inventive swear words, obviously trying to impress the visitors.

The woman burst out laughing, and the man said, ‘It’s all good and fun, but imagine Callie repeating after him and asking what does it mean.’

‘Gosh,’ said the woman, a pretty brunette in her mid-thirties, ‘imagine us trying to explain the meaning. Although I always wanted an Amazon parrot.’

‘We’re buying a Christmas present for Callie, remember?’ said the man. He was taller than his wife, also dark-haired, but with vivid blue eyes.

‘Honey,’ said the wife after they walked around the shop and stopped at my cage, ‘what do you say about this white birdie?’

‘Hmm… It’s definitely pretty.’

It? I clicked my beak in annoyance. Isn’t it obvious that I’m a girl? I turned my tail resolutely and stared at the traffic light turning red, although my heart was thrilling with the compliment. It was nice to be called “definitely pretty”, albeit an “it”. Humans. You can’t expect a lot from them.

‘Excuse me, young man,’ the woman addressed Jake, ‘what species is this bird?’

‘It’s a canary,’ said Jake lazily.

‘Really? Canaries are yellow.’

‘Albino. You can Google it. They are a thing.’

‘Honey, I want this bird for Callie,’ declared the husband. ‘It’s rare, it’s lovely, and Callie needs to learn how to take care of a pet.’

Rare and lovely? Me? Thanks, Blue Eyes!

‘Alright. Sold,’ said the wife. I couldn’t believe my auriculars. I was leaving this hellhole! I jumped closer to them. If only I could sing to show them my appreciation… But as I opened my beak, a strained wheezy sound came out.

I panicked instantly. What if they hear me and change their minds? But they apparently had no understanding of music and melody whatsoever, because the wife cooed, ‘Oh, how cute! She is singing to us!’

‘How much?’ the husband asked. Jake rifled through the old dog-eared inventory and gave them my price. Click, ding, snap - adios, bitches! And I thought it with all the love in my heart. And also because half the puppies were female.

***

‘Wow, Mommy, I really like her! Thanks!’ The dark-haired little girl stared at me in awe and admiration with her father’s bright blue eyes. No one had ever looked at me like this. I twittered, ‘I like you, too, Callie,’ and the little girl definitely spoke Canarese, because she opened the cage, took me in her warm soft hands and gave me a kiss right on the beak.

‘You’re welcome, my love, but she is yours now, and it’s you who will have to take care of her,’ said her father, and Callie’s face fell a little.

‘But… I don’t know how. What if I do something wrong? Will she die?’

‘If you leave her without food or water for more than a few days, yes,’ her father said seriously, and Callie’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘But don’t worry. We will be there to remind you to feed and water her.’

‘Okay.’

‘And you will also have to clean her cage, change the water in her birdbath, and when it’s warm outside, take her out to breathe fresh air. Leave her in and out of the cage, so that she could stretch her wings. You also have to play with her and talk to her, so that she isn’t bored.’

I whistled. Dude, you’re describing canary heaven. Birdbath? Not something Mr. Porcellini bothered about.

‘What’s her name?’ asked Callie, still holding me in her tiny hands.

‘She is yours, so you give her a name,’ said her mother.

‘Bella!’

‘Have you been stealing Twilight books from your mother?’ the father asked, horrified. ‘You know the rules, Callie. Books from our shelf are with permission only.’

‘No, Daddy,’ Callie hurried to explain herself, ‘there’s two girls from the playground who are called Bella. I think it’s a pretty name.’

‘Millennial parents,’ scoffed her mother.

‘The pot calling the kettle Jacob Black,’ laughed her husband.

Their conversation didn’t tell me much, since the joys of reading were not open to me. I was just enjoying the warmth and softness of Callie’s little hands. Merry, merry Christmas to me. To Bella Easterbrook. I tried to chirrup my new name. Ah. Not there yet.

***

Life in the Easterbrook household was - I’m not afraid to use these words - canary bliss. True, the little girl sometimes forgot to feed me, but her mother didn’t, and once, to teach her daughter a lesson, she told her they would sell me to another kid. Callie’s hysterical crying continued until her father came home from work, and, after a lot of pacifying words, hugs, and treats interlaced with promises of “never ever letting that happen again”, Callie and her mom started a Canary Care journal.

Mrs. Easterbrook spent a day at her computer in the study, and the result was a fun printable where Callie colored down the activities of the day, week, and month. She colored the water glasses blue, which meant she gave me my water, and the seed mounds brown or yellow, which meant I was fed. Cage cleaning, birdbath twice a week, vitamins once a month… With the journal, Callie also learned how to tell the time, since there was a clock drawing next to each activity. There were also slots for our photos, funny jokes on every page, Canary Care advice, so every day was an adventure for both of us.

Must say, I’ve gotten a little embonpoint with the high-fat seeds they were giving me. But we in the animal world don’t care about our figures as much as humans do. We know for a fact that in lean times, when the fat one loses weight, the skinny one dies. So I was happy with my high-fat seeds, my luxurious cage, my pleasant company. And I was practicing my singing until, one fine spring morning, as the shawl was removed from the top of my cage and I woke up, the household stood still in awed admiration as I regaled them with pitch-perfect canary song. Albinos can’t sing? My tail.

It was too good to be true, but it was true. Was it too good to last? Definitely. My bliss ended on the day Mrs. Easterbrook announced her new pregnancy at breakfast. Apparently, the hormones kicked in early, because in the afternoon, she brought home a sphinx cat. An ugly monster just like the one who was drooling over me at the pet shop. At that point, my fatalism has pretty much faded away with the love and the warmth surrounding me in my home. And now this… this creature? As a fellow pet? No, life is definitely unfair.

Mr. Easterbrook was just as surprised as I was. As the cat prowled the living room, sniffing at corners and meowing obnoxiously, he put down his tablet and eyed the beast warily.

‘What the hell is this?’

‘Language, honey,’ said Mrs. Easterbrook, depositing a bag of cat food on the kitchen island. Callie laughed. She was sitting at the writing desk, coloring the fulfilled day tasks in my Canary Care journal. The cat jumped on the ottoman and eyed us all insolently, while Callie put down her pencil, too, and reiterated with gusto, ‘Mommy, what the hell is this?’

‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Mrs. Easterbrook, a tad too dramatically.

‘Sorry, honey,’ apologized her husband, abject. ‘Callie, don’t repeat this, okay?’

I chirruped derisively in my cage. Way to half-ass it through parenting.

‘Teaching the child swear words…’

‘I wasn’t teaching her. I was just taken aback. Why did you bring this animal here?’

‘Her name is Caterpillar. She’s going to live with us,’ Mrs. Easterbrook declared with aplomb. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’

‘Arguable statement. It’s bald!’

‘I don’t like her, Mommy,’ Callie piped up resolutely. ‘She’s going to eat Bella.’

True dat, I twittered, observing the proceedings. What about my daily flybys of the house? That thing looked more than capable of intercepting me in full flight or at my cage door.

As if the creature understood me, it leapt on the little table where my residence stood, and started swatting with its paw, trying to fit it between the cage bars, claws out, howling aggressively. I took flight, my wings beating against the dome of the cage, panic taking hold of me. Save me, Callie, I chirped, save me! And sure enough, my girl came running, her little face tense and resolute, and whacked Caterpillar on the head with the Canary Care journal, the cardboard cover thudding satisfyingly against the bald skull.

‘It’s okay, Bella, I’ll take care of it.’ Callie turned to her mother with such firmness that Mrs. Easterbrook opened her mouth in surprise. ‘This cat is not staying, Mom. See what she almost did to Bella? And Bella was here first.’

‘But, baby…’

‘No, Mom. It’s either Caterpillar or Bella and me. If you don’t get rid of it, Bella and I will run away and live in the woods, I promise.’

I let out an amused, but desperate chirrup. Oh my sweet summer child… Yeah, yeah, I watch TV with the adults. So what if I’m a canary? I can’t quote Game of Thrones? Shut up. My point was, it’s always a bad idea to give ridiculous ultimatums to your parents, even if you’re six years old and absolutely adored.

Presently, Mr. Easterbrook, having laughed his head off, suggested a deal. We send the cat back to the pits of Hades where it came from, but get another new pet instead. Mrs. Easterbrook, whose moods were apparently changing on a dime, called the friend who gave her Caterpillar, while I looked at my nemesis triumphantly from my perch, whistling with derision. You should have waited till they went to bed, idiot. Caterpillar was sitting on her tail, looking at me with hatred, living proof of the harm in following your immediate instincts. 

Meanwhile, Callie filled my tray with fresh seeds, obviously a believer in food being the best remedy to relieve stress. My kinda girl. I pecked at her hand affectionately, and she giggled. Caterpillar, vanquished, yowled, and Mr. Easterbrook said, ‘Even if she didn’t try to eat Bella, I wouldn't be able to stomach this infernal howling.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Mrs. Easterbrook retorted irritably, throwing her phone on the coffee table, ‘Stacey agreed to take her back.’

‘Good riddance,’ said Callie. ‘Mommy, how about a second canary? A boyfriend for Bella?’

I whistled. Interesting.

‘See? She’s all for it.’ My girl could be a Canarese translator, she was so smart. ‘And we will name him Edward!’

‘You did steal your mother’s books,’ her father said reproachfully, while his wife scolded him, ‘Well, it’s you who mentioned Twilight and made it a forbidden fruit…’

Callie didn’t say anything. She knew she had to let her parents bicker it out before trying to defend herself. I’m not going to rat you out, girl, I chirruped as she returned to the Canary Care journal and colored the second mound of seeds brown on the day’s page. I knew for a fact she took Twilight from the shelf and was reading it at night with a flashlight under her blanket. But what the hell, they should be grateful their daughter reads instead of playing League of Legends. Even if it’s not War and Peace.

So, Caterpillar was gone, peace reigned in the household again, and we were living happily - me, Callie, Callie’s dad, Callie’s mom, Callie’s mom’s hormones, until…

But that is material for Bella Easterbrook the sequel. As we all know, good literature is like high-fat seeds. You gotta leave'em wanting more.