Tweet revenge

Nothing is sweeter than a Sunday afternoon nap. Nothing is more sour than a Sunday afternoon nap that gets interrupted. A bird found its way into our sunroom yesterday during my Sunday afternoon nap (my third of the day). The bird perched itself up on a shelf and let me have it. “Tweet, tweet. Why did you attack my feathered friend?” it asked. It was not happy that a few weeks ago I jumped head first into one of the bushes in my backyard and snatched another bird out of its own nest. “Bark, Bark. Why did your feathered friend build a nest in my backyard?” It was a lame response, but the only thing I could come up with in my sleepy head. When the commotion woke up Lexie from her Sunday afternoon nap, the bird realized it was outnumbered and thought it best to fly our coup. Problem was it was in a sunroom with windows as walls. “Do I fly out here?” it would tweet, bumfuzzled. Then hit a window. Blap. “Guess not. How about here?” Thud. “Guess not.” This went on for a while until Cheryl woke up from her Sunday afternoon nap and realized something was amiss. She came to the rescue by opening the door and swatting at the bird with a broom until it flew out. That bird did end up getting in the last word. When I crawled into my bed later that night I found where it had left me a present.