The Parrot



Esme had disappeared . That was for certain . Miss Pickelby’s frequent wails of anguish and bewildered bereavement , all bore testimony to the loss of a near somebody , and her clamorous lamentations about the feline pet form provided as much allusion as to the subject that might have gone amiss . Dobbis might have felt within himself an inclination to confine himself to the cozy comfort of his bed , but he had always found miss Pickelby’s apple pies to be particularly agreeable , and a woman capable of conjuring up miracles in the kitchen, as to be pleasantly satisfying to a man’s palette , demanded more attention from her immediate neighbours , if not more respect .

Miss Pickelby broke the news to Dobbis, as he tiresomely dragged himself into her apartment .
‘Esme has disappeared ‘ she cried .

‘Do you mean that its dead , or conjured up some form of Houdini miracle , or just left’ ,asked Dobbis lazily . Miss Pickelby was a widower , nearing her forties , and had earned herself the dubious reputation of being the most wonderfully forgetful and remarkably absentminded woman in the whole of the country . She had , once , been married , as all women usually are , by social stipulation , in her twenties , to a husband , who , in an act of extreme forgetfulness , had lost his gun, and then his life . She , of course had no children , and had taken to the care of her pet cat with the desperate affection of deprived motherhood.

‘Like every night , I had put him beside the fire, after he had finished his supper , for it was rather cold yesterday , and had gone to bed rather early ‘

‘ Curious thing how an early retirement to bed always makes you end up losing living life forms ‘, quipped Dobbis , who found it difficult to comprehend what possible pleasure a person might obtain by going to bed early , in a world so full of possibilities .

‘And that was the last I saw of him ‘ , continued Miss Pickelby in a shriller tone . ‘When I woke up today in the morning , Esme was not there by the fire place , so I thought he might be in the lawn , but he was nowhere to be found ‘.

‘Going by the length of its absence , Esme can be some two miles off , or may be dead ‘ ,quipped Dobbis , with the callous indifference of one , on whom the possible consequences of Esme’s passing away on the culinary skills of Miss Pickelby weighed more heavily.

‘But why and how ‘ , asked a distracted and visibly distraught miss Pickelby .

‘Well of course , I cannot speak too intelligently about the travel habits of disillusioned cats . Maybe , the oppressive affection of misdirected motherhood has forced it to migrate in search of households ,whose primary solicitation in life may remain in something more worthwhile . Or maybe , it has gladly become the morning breakfast of some rather hungry stray dog. There’s no telling to what ends ones quest for freedom might lead one to .

‘It certainly is not dead ‘,said Mrs. Pickelby, but a note of horror had crept into her voice.

‘But we ought to have found it’s remains , or atleast a carcass ‘.

‘Not if the stray dogs were particularly hungry and not merely toying with their food . Not very often do they get to enjoy a whole healthy furry cat for breakfast . You really must make that concession .’
Mrs. Pickelby turned away hastily to seek comfort and counsel in some other direction. With the selfish absorption of young motherhood she entirely disregarded Dobbis’s concern for the dire conditions of stray street dogs. And her search for an ear found an welcome audience in the form of Miss Mukherjee , who had alighted at the doorsteps of the distraught household , probably to garner enough information for her daily gossip . Miss Mukherjee was by far , the most tactless woman in the whole of the city , and had travelled far , in search of faith , and had lost both her mind and tongue , in the process . Now , on the present occasion of personal bereavement , she was disposed to give tongue to the heartfelt sympathies she had for the bereaved , as Miss Pickelby broke to her , the news of her pets sudden and ill-advised disappearance , with the same merciless faculty which finds as much joy in the ninetieth time of telling as in the first.

‘He must be around here somewhere , could not possibly have gone far .You , of course , need to keep faith in Lord , and believe that Esme’s sudden disappearance is merely a test of your faith ,’ suggested Miss Mukherjee , with the authority of one who was well acquainted with the whimsicalities of the aforementioned Lord .

‘But if he's been eaten in the meantime by effectively larger canines and partly digested," said Dobbis, who clung affectionately to his stray Dog theory, "surely some ill-effects would be noticeable?"

Miss Mukherjee was rather staggered by this complication of the question. However , armed with all good faith ,and her absolute lack of tact, she suggested that the church backyard might provide an appropriate site to begin their search . Of all the things that one could possibly do on a Sunday morning , Visiting the Church backyard suggested itself as being a particularly mundane thing to do , particularly in light of the looming reality of Esme’s disappearance , but the Lord acts in mysterious ways , and there was no disputing Miss Mukherjee’s good faith , if not her intentions . So , reignited with the hope of restoration of her lost pet , along with the lure of Nirvana , that the instrument of faith promised to land in her lap , Miss Pickelby headed for the churchyard . However , their recent quest was cut short by the sobbing wails of Miss Mukherjee’s maid , which , there was no mistaking , by sheer virtue of its lungpower .

As the three rushed into Miss Mukherjee’s apartment , they were greeted to the sight of a carcass of Miss Mukherjee’s pet parrot , which lay on the ground , lifeless , and subject to fervent tongue-licking from Miss Pickelby’s missing pet .



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