My Nemesis
I had told him a flat no, but he kept badgering me. My son and hubby however, were like minded, and on the day of Sergio’s eighteenth birthday, I found myself staring at the shivering, goose pimpled beastie in his arms.
“I’m going to hand-rear him mom, you won’t have to do a thing.” Yeah right, I thought, famous last words. I threw hubby a filthy look, his grin widened. But true to his words, Sergio took care of the beastie, preparing the mush that passed for his baby food with great diligence. At night while we watched television, the beastie would squat on Sergio’s chest, a mass of itsy bitsy feathers, wrinkled, pimply skin and beady little eyes.
Time passed and the beastie flourished, the white bum fluff morphed into grey feathers, his tail turned red and his eyes remained beady. Sergio played around with regal sounding names like Caesar, Giaus, Hugo. I suggested, Hitler, Nero, Jack the Ripper, but instead we settled on Basil. We bought a cage, filled it with suitable toys and slotted it into a corner of our veranda. In retrospect, I should have placed Basil in the sun and let his carcass burn! The floor around the cage soon became a battlefield of sunflower seeds, bits of dried chilli, grape skins and runny green poop.
Every morning, I’d greet Basil with what became our special whistle. I’d open the beastie’s cage, sit at the wrought iron table with cappuccino in hand and contemplate the day ahead. Soon enough, Basil would join me. He’d climb down the cage, waddle his way across the tiled floor, up the leg of a chair – or the table, whatever was handy, and fix his beady eye on my blue polka dot mug. With a click of his tongue, he would dip his lethal beak into the foam and happily guzzle away.
Daily, we built a loving relationship. I’d scratch and massage his neck, tickle under his wings and plant many kisses on his beak. Beastie loved it, I loved it, we grew close. I taught him to speak. “Kiss, kiss baby.” Basil would graciously dip his head and I’d place kisses on his beak. Other phrases soon followed like: hey baby, love you my darling, what you doing, where are you. Beastie even imitates my laugh. I never realised that I cackled like a witch. It takes Basil about two days to learn a new sentence or phrase. I constantly repeat the words while he watches me like a hawk, fluffing out his feathers. So adorable.
Hubby was away a lot, eventually my sons left for Australia, and beastie and I fell more in love. After all, most of the time it was just the two of us. Brings to mind that old song, ‘two for tea and tea for two,’ only it was coffee we shared and yoghurt, which he’d nibble from my teaspoon. Beastie also loves soft chips, crisps and cooked spaghetti with tomatoes mixed in. I do try and get him to eat his greens, but he always gives me a gimlet stare, grabs the offending green stuff and tosses it away. Pomegranate seeds are another favourite, but strawberries, avocado and of course, chocolate are a big no-no. I’ve even left some of these foodstuffs in his pathway, but he steers well away from them. I’ve also contemplated shoving them down his scrawny throat with a syringe or maybe just snapping his skinny neck, or I could just… okay, deep breath. I’ll stop there for now. There will be more stories of the greatest love on earth, between me and Beastie.
