Last Sunday, Riley was hanging out around the house. I opened our backdoor to put a plant outside, and he took off. We searched for 2 hours—we spotted him once on the roof of another apartment building, and once on a power line on the main road. After that, he disappeared.
We had millet and his favorite cups, we called and whistled. He knows “come here pretty bird,” but it didn’t work.
We called the local SPCA, we let our apartment complex know he was missing, and we posted the news on Facebook. We put his cage outside and spent the afternoon on the back porch, chatting so he’d hear our voices.
He hasn’t come back, and no one has tried to contact us.
It’s been a bad week. I brought him home just about a year ago. Back then, I lived alone in Michigan, with no friends or family close by. He was the little guy I talked to and spent all my home time with.
He’d sit on my shoulder while I cooked, watched TV, read books, ate meals, listened to music. He met all of my school friends and learned songs from them (I can’t whistle).
The first year of law school is all the hell they say it is, but Riley was with me the whole time. I thought I’d have him for the next ten to fifteen years, that I’d be able to introduce him to my kids or nieces and nephews.
I feel terrible.