You know, I never thought I'd have a parrot. In fact, I had dreamed of one ever since I was a young mum taking my daughter to the zoo. We always lingered by the bird aviaries. Everyone else hurried on to the bears or the elephants, but I would stand watching the parrots and couldn't tear myself away. They were noisy and colourful, each with its own character. My daughter used to laugh: Mum, it's as if you're talking to them. But back then it never occurred to me to keep such a bird at home: work, housework, a child, everyday worries.
Later I even hung three paintings of parrots at home. I don't know, perhaps to bring the dream a little closer that way. They still hang in my sitting room, so bright they seem to glow on the wall. Everyone who visits notices them straight away and asks: "You must really love birds?" And I just smile. Yes, I do, but I never dared to get a real parrot.
Over the years my worries didn't grow any fewer. A house always needs attention: the garden, the cooking, all sorts of little jobs. I thought that if I got a bird, I couldn't give it as much time as it needed. And that sense of responsibility always held me back.
And then my grandchildren came for my birthday. They're grown up now, with their own lives, and we don't see each other often. But this time they arrived with a box. They looked at me mysteriously and smiled. I open it and there he is. Small, green, with a red tail and clever little eyes. And I knew at once: it's him. He's mine.
I named him Archie. He's shy and quiet, as if he senses the rhythm of my life. He doesn't ask for much, but he's always close by. When I sit knitting or make a cup of tea, he sits on his perch with one foot tucked up and watches me. Sometimes he tilts his head as if he's listening.
You know, I was always afraid I wouldn't cope, that I wouldn't have enough time. But it turned out to be the other way round. Archie has become part of my day. In the morning I say hello to him, during the day I tell him what I'm doing, and in the evening he closes his eyes and dozes while I read a book.
My grandchildren now joke: "Gran, we knew you needed him." And they were probably right. Because Archie filled an emptiness I hadn't even noticed. The house is often quiet, and sometimes I catch myself talking to him out loud.
And the most wonderful thing is that he doesn't talk, but he knows how to listen. And that is probably what matters most. Now, when I look at my paintings of parrots, I smile in a different way. I don't just have paintings any more. I have Archie. And he lives here, with me.
One more thing: in the end I took the plunge and got Archie a companion.
