On my way home from work tonight, I called my dad and he told me to call him back when I got home. I said, “did something bad happen?” and he said, “just call me when you get home.” I replied back, “is it Garfield, did he die?” And my dad said yes. I knew his time was coming soon, as with my other bird, I took one look at Garfield at Thanksgiving and knew he was at the end of his life.
Garfield is the last of my childhood birds that was left. He lived with my parents, but I truly enjoyed visiting with him when I went to their house. He died this afternoon and will be missed. I grew up with cockatiel birds, 5 of them in fact over time. I had Garfield since I was 9 or 10. He was originally called Felix and I loved Garfield the cat, so I named him another cat cartoon name. Rest in peace little birdie, I’ll miss your chirping, tough guy bites, enthusiasm for fresh bread, love of baths in the bathroom sink, pretty pretty bird songs and you looking at yourself in the mirror or lamp base.