Batman died today. Our parakeet. The last of our parakeets who knew our first parakeet, Milo. He left behind his lover, Robyn, and his friends, Sweet Pea and Fifty… and us. Batman had some sort of anal tumor – best we could tell. We set him down into the same garden where you’d buried Milo.
“You have my total permission to do that with me when my time comes. Just throw me into some garden. Or off some bridge,” I said.
You shook your head and frowned.
I walked towards you and touched your face. You said something about a parakeet’s pea sized brain and humans being sentimental.
Later, you took me down to the garden. I whistled Batman’s favorite tune. We came back upstairs and ate ham sandwiches for supper.