Chapter 11: 'Food, glorious Food'
"Cheep – Cheep – Cheeeeeeep!!!"
The Canary sang quietly to himself, hopping from his big wooden perch, to his slightly smaller, naffer perch below, and then back up again. He was trying to distract himself from the noises his stomach was making. His hunger was eating him from the ankles up and strengthening his leg muscles had seemed the ideal way to stop this. Now though, he wasn't so sure. His legs were hurting, and the hunger had crept up to his knees. He wondered what life he would be like if he became a legless canary, but the thought was too great for his brain to cope with, and all he did was give himself a headache.
He was so hungry he thought he might pass out.
In the vain hope that Mr Tweed (as he had fondly nicknamed his owner) had filled up his feed dish and he'd just neglected to tell him, the Canary hopped down to the bottom of his cage. He shut his eyes as he approached, so it would be a super surprise when he saw the shiny dish packed full, over-flowing with glorious, fresh, rich bird mix.
He opened one eye, and then the other, and sighed with disappointment.
Alas, no. The shiny dish was still emptily shiny, except for the horrible little yellow things that tasted like cardboard and got stuck in his beak. There was no glorious food mix to eat after all. He looked disdainfully at the yellow bits. He supposed if Mr Tweed didn't come back soon he'd have to eat them. The Canary picked one up in his beak and nibbled thoughtfully. Then he spat it back out. He'd wait a little longer first.
Tapping one toe in frustration, he moved across the cage to find a part of the newspaper he hadn't yet read. His lessons were going well. His Aunty Hilda had taught him the core basics back at home: Get your letters up the right way, read from left to right, don't forget to breathe, and all he'd been doing was elaborating on that. Ah, here was something.
'Cheese disappears from factory'Right, well, this should be easy. He frowned, tipped his head on one side, and started at the beginning.
Cheese. Chee-ese. He said it aloud to himself "Cheep. Chee-eep" He blinked happily, and flapped his wings a little in excitement. "Cheep!" He cried. "Cheep cheep cheep". He'd heard of this strange creature called Cheese. His Granny Mildred had told him stories of it, how it lived in the great cold, feeding on air until it got strong enough to walk (putting on green armor before hand) and leaving to migrate to be with others Cheese kind in the Land of Dust Bin. He'd never heard of it eating canaries, but you couldn't be too careful. He looked around nervously. If it was important enough to make the newspaper, then if could be anywhere!
The empty living room stared back at him, and the canary felt satisfied he wasn't going to get ambushed.
He turned back to the newspaper, continued to decipher the writing. An hour later, he had it. 'Cheese disappears from factory'. He felt very proud of himself. He didn't actually know what a factory was, but he reckoned that it was the great cold place, where the Cheese lived. Silly humans, he thought, not realizing that the cheese has left the country. He thought that Sunnydale must be a very boring place if cheese was all they had to report on.
His stomach rumbled, and he realized that his hunger had got worse. If he wasn't careful he really was going to end up eating those nasty yellow bits at the bottom of his dish.
Suddenly a noise came from the direction of the front door, and the canary perked up considerably. This was it. His faithful owner Mr. Tweed had returned to him, armed with bags and bags of bird mix, enough to feed him for years. The door handle rattled, then stopped.
That's odd, thought the canary. Normally he opens it after the rattling. The door handle rattled again. Ah, maybe he's got his hands full with all the bird mix
"Cheep Cheep!" He called out.
Suddenly the door crashed open, slamming against the wall, a great big split down the side, and a dark shape stood in the doorway.
The Canary squinted, and wished he'd remembered to pack his glasses before he'd gone on holiday. It was a human-shaped shape, but he didn't think it was Mr Tweed. And whoever it was certainly wasn't carrying any bird food.
"Cheep" He said sadly. He resigned himself to the fact that he would be eating the yellow bits at sometime in the near future.
The figure shut the broken door behind him and moved into the room. He took off his jacket, humming an odd tune under his breath, crossing the room, running his hands over the worktop, looking around. It was as if he'd been here before.
"Cheep?" The canary asked politely. The man smiled broadly, and went over to the cage. He opened up the little door, and the Canary obligingly hopped onto the outstretched finger.
"Well aren't you a cutey? Always knew Ripper'd get a bird eventually"
"Cheep" The Canary said, having no idea what this man had just said, but really hoping it was about food. He indicated with his head towards his very pitiful and empty dish. The man chuckled. "Blonde and intelligent, let's hope Rupert can keep you"
Letting the canary back into his cage, the man took the bowl out of the cage. He looked around thoughtfully, before going over to a small sack under the telephone table. The smell of bird mix wafted through the air, and the canary thought he was going to die from excitement.
"cheep cheep cheep!!" He sang. Now now now! He watched as a wonderful golden stream of nuts and seeds and uck, those icky yellow things, was poured into his bowl, and ran around the bottom of his cage in excitement. "Cheep Cheep"
"Steady Steady. Wouldn't want you to explode now, would we?" The man said. He chuckled again, and put the bowl back into his cage.
The Canary couldn't eat fast enough. He muttered a garbled thank-you through beakfulls of food, but really didn't want to stop.
The Man stood and watched for a moment.
"Well" The man said. "That's the canary sorted. What about me?"
When the canary (or anybody else for that matter) neglected to reply, he put the kettle on instead, and started to make himself at home. He had plenty of time. By this time tomorrow, he'd probably have too much of it. He hoped Ripper was prepared. Otherwise they'd all be dead, and he'd be seriously out of money.
That thought bothered him.
"Perhaps a scotch would be better" He muttered.
Ethan Rayne started to root through the cupboards in search for a decent drink.