Thoughts from my cockatiel: Mirror, mirror on the cage, I see Amy and am still filled with rage

Sydney Lynn introduced me to a new term recently when she expressed interest in possibly acquiring a tortoise:  Legacy pet. As in, this creature will undoubtedly outlive you and, when it's done dancing on your grave, will need to move in with your, no-doubt, delighted, next-of-kin. Sydney, to her credit, immediately fled.

I thought about my Will and cringed. My daughters (now 28 & 30...such a precocious age. At this stage of development, apparently, they begin to stop sassing back at their mother. My children are lagging behind a bit in this particular area.) are covered as, in the event that Brad and I are wiped out by a wayward meteor or succumbed to eating questionable clams at the county fair, Savannah and Sydney's care has been lovingly bequeathed to my friend, Joan. I'm sure their spouses are relieved by this news.  But I had failed to make such accommodations for our aged cockatiel, Percy.

I have not been shy in expressing my feelings for my feathered fiend:

Example One

Example Two

We are reluctant roommates...a fraudulent flock unfit to share the same space.

But last week, I had a startling revelation as I was wandering through Petsmart ("Pet's Mart?" "Pet Smart?"). There, in his gilded cage, perched a virtual Bird of Paradise. I froze, enraptured by his beauty. A silver cockatiel. He gleamed. Glowed. I swooned. Heart? Explode. Mind? Blown. I glanced at his price tag...like you could place a monetary value on such a mystical marvel...forty bucks?!? I was outraged. I stormed off to drag the poor guy cleaning the aquariums over to show him the museum-quality piece that Petsmart (Oh! It MUST be "Pet's Mart"!) had overlooked. His arm dripping, the staff guy did not seem impressed by my helpful suggestion to perhaps move the cage to a more trafficked area or to perhaps highlight this perched Pegasus on social media, arranging viewing times or one of those nifty "live cam" opportunities. The guy just waved his wilted green net at me and asked if I was going to buy it. "No!" I told him indignantly, "I don't like birds!"

As I walked away, I suddenly realized that I had given more compliments to this bird in five minutes than I had bestowed upon Percy in his nearly twenty years in my home. Shamed, I rushed back to the now-empty bird aisle (The guy was muttering something under his breath as he stood, shoulder-deep, over a ten gallon aquarium filled with fleeing fish.) I inspected the merchandise carefully. Maybe Percy would like another rope perch. Or a nice cuttlebone. Then I saw a mirror...I'd read that single birds often enjoy a mirror. Percy is perched where he can easily view the outdoor bird feeder (He was traumatized briefly when our outside birds were targeted by a Sharp-shinned hawk who struck like a missile leaving a cloud of feathers in its wake) and the TV for when we put on his channel so he won't be lonely when we're at work. I wondered if he would like a mirror. 

Guilt made me buy all three.

Why not buy the silver cockatiel, Amy, if you're so worried about your lonely little bird? 

Look. These things live twenty-five years OR more. My bird is NOT a cuddle-er. He likes to sit NEXT to me but, any move on my part, and he'll lunge at me like a Sharp-shinned hawk. He rudely interrupts my phone calls. Spits seeds at me. Will look me STRAIGHT in the eye and decorate my floor. We co-exist. Reluctantly. 

If the silver cockatiel was a senior citizen, I would have bought him without a thought. 

I cannot go another twenty-five years like this.

Which reminds me, I have to add my legacy pet to the Will. I'm sure Joan won't mind. What a wonderful way to reflect upon our relationship after I take wing!