I like to sit. Sometimes I strut around and stretch though, because I get stiff. It's hard to stay in one place for so long, perched on a chair or on a hard floor. I don't complain much about it, I guess it could be worse.

           While I sit, or strut, depending on the time of day, I also watch people. Not because I like to really, but more because I have nothing else to do. I will admit that sometimes I get interested. People do interesting things when they think no one is watching. I can't see very much from where I sit, and often the bars get in the way, but I see enough.

           There was once this woman who came to visit with her little girl. The girl looked so sad that I quickly stood up, stopped picking at my lunch, and watched as her mother approached the desk at the front to talk to Henry. Henry, by the way, takes care of us and by us I mean everybody stuck in this joint. Some of us have been here so long we have actually forgotten where we came from. When you are shut in one place for such a lengthy period of time with no real purpose and nothing substantial to occupy yourself with, you can start to forget things. That is mainly why I spend my time watching. I'm afraid of going loony like my neighbour George. I see him sometimes trying to bite his way through the bars and Henry tries really hard to help him out. Henry is a good person, I like talking to him, but I don't like to see him sad.

           Which was how I knew that little girl was sad. You see, people have this thing with their eyes when they get happy or sad or upset. Henry brought this girl over once and he was saying all these things about her eyes, except she didn't seem to like it very much since she left really quickly afterward, but Henry didn't look like he minded. It was when he was serving George and I our dinner that I heard him mutter something which sounded like: "Eyes are the window to the soul, think about that, Ed." Of course I thought about it, but I'm not sure I really understood. Until that little girl.

           Her eyes were sort of tilted inward and very shiny, almost like the glass of a fishbowl. It was like she was about to cry, she wanted to cry, but she just couldn't, or maybe she didn't know how. While her mom spoke to Henry, the little girl started walking around the front of the joint. She disappeared down the space behind me, but I could still hear her footsteps tapping on the cold, hard floor. I didn't think it was a really good idea on her part since some of the folks in here are a little dangerous if you don't have Henry there with you. Like Jimbo for example, he can be a real snake. He's a bit of a special case and has to be kept behind glass instead of just bars. I think the little girl smelled the danger like Jimbo can smell fear because soon I heard the quick pitter-patter of her feet running and she reappeared, latched on to her mother's jacket. Now her mother just gave her this look that said a lot of things. From where I was standing, transfixed as it were, I couldn't make any of it out, but the little girl understood and I could see the wrinkles form between her eyebrows. She was most definitely more upset now.

           Thinking about it after the fact, I realize that my reaction to the whole situation might have been slightly over the top, but being where I am and having limited social contact, I didn't really know any better.

           Staring at that little girl watch as her mother raised her voice at another man, this one happening to be Henry, I suddenly felt as though I understood. Once again, looking back, it was an odd assumption to make, especially for my lack of experience, but that didn't deter the words from tumbling out of my throat.

           "No more Daddy! No more Daddy! No more Daddy!" I yelled repeatedly, the three words continuously forming on my tongue, falling like a waterfall of sound into the room, underlying the high octave of the woman's raised voice. I tried, but I couldn't stop. The little girl had turned and was staring at me wide-eyed by this point, but her mother was either too pre-occupied with beating up on Henry or successfully ignoring my repetitive accusation. That was until George started gnawing on his bars again and chimed in with his own mantra.

           "Goodbye Daddy bye! Goodbye Daddy bye! Goodbye! Bye! Goodbye Daddy bye!" It was the oddly musical chanting of both George and I that finally attracted the mother's attention as well as the daughter. For a brief moment there was not a sound in here except for the mechanical sounding harmonies of mine and George's voices. I was too busy fixing my stare on the little girl to notice her mother turn from Henry's desk and start over to me. Her steps were slow; I could hear them despite the other racket I was in the process of making. She got close, very close, and I wondered if maybe it was enough and I should've stopped, but my lungs were working on over time and it seemed as though ceasing the continual vibration of my vocal chords would be a large sacrifice for the greater good. So I kept yelling, and the woman stared at me through the bars and for the first time in that whole period I could see her eyes. I could see them and I could see in them and these eyes weren't at all like those of the little girl. They were hard, as in solid, and I bet if I tried to poke one with my nose, it would feel cold and dry instead of warm and wet as I figured eyes would be. Somewhere in the background I could hear the little girl crying and I wished that this stone woman would turn around and comfort her daughter, but those eyes told me that she wouldn't, not at that time and probably never again. I stopped yelling almost as abruptly as the idea had come to me to start. George had ceased a while ago. The little girl's mother removed her face from my range of sight and turned, walking back toward Henry behind his desk. I continued to stare at her back as she leaned on the desk and spoke to Henry.

           "I think you should take that bird outside and shoot it," she said. "Its presence is hindering your business," she added, though it was more like a hiss than a regular statement. With that, though, she took her daughter, who was still sniveling, by the hand and dragged her from the shop.

           Henry closed the store following that incident, but didn't tell me why exactly. I have a feeling that it wasn't actually my fault, even though all signs pointed to that being the case. I still don't remember how I got to the back of the store; I didn't feel my cage move, but I might have been sleeping at the time.

           I like to sit still. Still in both senses of the word. I do like to strut, but I don't do it very much anymore. I never speak, except to Henry, who tells me he doesn't think I'll find a home anytime soon and he's sorry for that. I'm sorry, too, but I wonder if maybe that little girl would have wanted a parrot had I kept my mouth shut. Maybe her eyes had nothing to do with her Daddy, maybe she had just lost a pet.

           I gave my bars a taste the other day and I think George is on to something. I've added gnawing to my list of things I like to do. I think it's slowly going to replace watching people because last time I did that, I got in trouble.