The wife went to bed and developed symptoms of the flu pandemic as outlined in many novels/writings about zombies. I gave her a cocktail of tylenol 3 (left over from a dental visit a few years ago), ibuprofen P.M. (two of the big 500mg ones), and an allergy pill guaranteed to get rid of mucus. She was able to be up all day happily MUDding (don't ask, please), while I slept in an un-infected area of the house (see sofa), and now that it's all wearing off, she's feeling VERY CLOSE TO DEATH and wants more. Seriously? I can't give out all of my medicine cocktails to someone who is a liability (read that to say that she was sloppy and nearly infected me but luckily I found my face mask). I remain vigilant and guard my medical supply.
In other news, the cockatoo still has not escaped, however, he did wake me up after seven hours of blissful (nearly coma-like) sleep with one of his very shrill calls. The kind of call (as I've read online) that can be heard up to three miles away. I talked to him in a soothing tone until he calmed down (I'm sure my neighbors are thankful) and the wife offered him some raisin bread. He loves bread and picks out the raisins. Pretty stupid really, since the ONLY reason I love it is FOR the raisins. Ugh. Someone needs to go to the grocery store, I doubt it's going to be the wife since she's in her death throes.
The other parrots eye us curiously, I'm sure it goes against all reason to reward the cockatoo with food when he screams (wtf, why didn't I realize that YEARS ago instead of falling into this trap) and they are all concocting plans to scream for food as well. Mm, well, maybe not Samhir (one of the Afrikan Greys), I think he's sure that he can sing Row Row Row Your Boat at us and the cuteness will never wear off.
So my beloved boss Mindy died a few years ago, but thought to leave me her obnoxious little maltese, both of them. Falcon and Bogart. (SERIOUSLY?) Anyways, Falcon is the female and she's developed this ugly little asthmatic wheeze as she's gotten older. How does a dog that weighs four pounds (on a day of much food and water) echo such a loud asthmatic sound all through this old (100 yrs old) wood-framed house with such rhythm that that even I think that someone left a television on somewhere and The Walking Dead is playing.
Sadly, despite my dreams of running and driving cars etc, I woke up and still cannot walk. I think the wife is insulted when she helps me get to the bathroom and then I furiously scrub the places her infected hands have touched me with much soap and water. She's looking for gloves (at my behest-or maybe demand- same thing) to protect me from the infection she's obviously developed. If you don't hear from me again, I likely am living in a house with people dead from a pandemic flu and since I cannot walk, I'm probably dying from lack of food/sunlight/water/ability to reach the bathroom.