I should introduce myself,

I was born human. But I was turned into a Parakeet by a mountain witch who took exception to my winking at her lovely daughter (and not at her).

In the time that I have been a parakeet, I have picked up thousands of languages. Unfortuantly I can't seem to control when I use any particular language.

I would make a wonderful translator, If I could just be consistant.

The storm drove me from my perch on the hill south of Orwell Farm and now I'm resting my little wings on a tree near a cabin on the slope. And I am all together lost. This is not weather for keets, and I'm scared.

There has been an ugly skinny cat stareing up at me for the past five minutes licking his chops.

I think he's hungry.

I'd fly away, but I'm far too tired, and the wind is too high and it is sooooo cold. It isn't weather for a keet, not one keet or a parakeet.

Maybe I'll take a nap and the ugly cat will be gone when I awake.