Sunday, August 27, 2023


Did you feed Sydney Fylbert, I ask, you know how he is if you don't. And, guiltily, she mutters "oops" before hurrying off to her room to offer food to the turkey vulture (Sydney Fylbert) who is ensconced on her bed with several other creatures. Loud sounds of gobbling ensue. He tends to gulp down his food like a dead man starving, because the point is not whether he has been fed at all during the day, but that there is food now, and he's uncertain about when he'll get to eat again. It might be several hours! Which is a life time for a turkey vulture.

Last night he plaintively stated that "no one ever FEEDS me", when I was eating, despite my apartment mate having done so earlier, at which time he scarfed down fully half of her meal. Nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom! He ate so much yesterday that he felt bloated and belched for the rest of the evening.

While speculating about little meatballs.
Furry ambulatory little meatballs.
With a cute hairbow

In his world, meatballs are what little girl hamsters are. One of whom (Clarissa) visits nearly each day with her grampa (Basil). The other creatures love having them over. Sydney Fylbert drools. And then gets either poked in the hurty place with a stick, or threatened with a fierce aura till he skulks away.

"No one ever feeds me! It's been so long!"

When I left this morning he was wailing about 'fatty inner thighs'. Which, he insists, I can and must harvest from the bitter old fossils in Marin whom I babysit. I muttered something rude when I closed the door, because heck will freeze over before I break the law and harvest body bits from useless old men.

Although, I suppose that if I carve them up for turkey vulture food and weasel bait, they would no longer be useless. So it's worth considering.

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