The apartment functioned under a strict but loving "free-range" policy. For Ani and Xiaohua, the cage was not a prison, but a dining hall and a bedroom. Most of the day, the two budgies preferred the vantage point of the cage’s roof, surveying their kingdom from the wire peaks.
The owner had a specific philosophy regarding their wings. Most pet shops would have trimmed their flight feathers immediately to keep them manageable, but she found that too restrictive. Instead, she maintained a tactical compromise. If the birds began to ignore her and nested in the high, unreachable shadows of the ceiling molding, she would gently trim just enough to make high-altitude flight difficult. Over time, the birds had learned the boundary; they flew at a moderate, respectful height, keeping them within the owner's reach and out of trouble.
Xiaohua, the yellow and green male, was the easier of the two. He was a creature of simple loyalties. When the owner entered the room or called out, Xiaohua would often fly toward her, his wings a cheerful blur. He was obedient, almost transparent in his intentions. Ani, however, was a beautiful enigma in blue and white. She lacked Xiaohua’s bravery. While Xiaohua flew toward the owner, Ani’s instinct was to melt into the shadows.
This timid nature was made more complicated by her aristocratic tastes. Ani was a wasteful eater, flicking the seeds she disliked out of the bowl with a sharp beak. Under normal circumstances, the owner used this to her advantage; the mess was a form of food control, encouraging the birds to approach her spontaneously when they grew hungry for more. Only when the owner planned a long-distance trip would she place a secondary bowl on the solid floor to catch the spills, ensuring they had a backup. In their daily routine, however, Ani’s pickiness meant she relied entirely on the owner’s presence to stay satisfied—a fact that made it all the more terrifying when she suddenly vanished from sight.
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