I was in the pet store wondering whether my cat would like beef, seafood, liver, or chicken cat food best when a parrot called out my name. I turned around and looked it in the eye. It said my name again. Then it said, "liver," though it might have been "lover." I shelled out five hundred dollars and went home with the bird and a ten pound bag of liver cat food.

I introduced the parrot to my cat. It said, "hello," and that was it. I can’t blame it, though. I’m sure it knew that the cat would have preferred parrot even to liver. The cat sat and eyed the bird intently until I fed her. Then she ate. The parrot said my name again.

My name is Thorngood. It’s not the most common name. In fact, it’s not a common name at all. I named the parrot Gorgonzola because it was kind of ugly and deserved an ugly name. My cat is called Silky because she’s beautiful and soft.

I sat down at the kitchen table and looked through the papers that the pet store clerk had given me. Between the How to Care for Your Parrot or Cockatoo Guide and the Bird Luxury Catalog was a sheet with the parrot’s pedigree. It was a greenwing macaw, Ara chloroptera. It was thirty years old. It’s previous owner had been Cedric Plum. The one before that was Martha Melly. The paper listed their phone numbers. I gave Martha a call.

"Hello," she said. "Melly residence. Martha speaking. How may I help you?"

"I just bought your bird," I told her.

"Oh, you bought Lucas? How wonderful!"

"Yes, well he’s Gorgonzola now."

"Oh," she said, no longer friendly. "What do you want?"

"Do you know anyone by the name of Thorngood?"

"Thorngood? No. Why?"

"No reason," I said and hung up on her.

The parrot called out my name and I looked up. Silky was walking along the counter towards his cage.

"Silky!" I shouted. "Get down! Leave him alone."

She ignored me so I got up and pushed her onto the floor.

"Screw you," said the bird. Generally, I don’t let anyone speak that way in my home but the bird was new, so I let it slide.

Then I called up Cedric Plum. The phone rang six times and I was about to hang up when a weak, ancient voice answered.

"Thorngood?" it said.

"Yes," I said. "How’d you know?"

"Thorngood!" the old man repeated, suddenly coming to life.

"Yes. That’s me. Am I speaking with Mr. Plum?"

"You are, Thorngood. You are."

"How did you know it was me?" I asked.

"I knew," he said. "Juju found you."

"Juju?"

"The macaw."

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"You will," he said ominously. "You will."

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"You’ll find out," he said again. Then he whistled so shrilly into the phone that I had to move the receiver away from my ear. At the sound of the whistle, Silky leapt up onto the counter and knocked the birdcage down. Its latch came undone and Gorgonzola flew out. While I shouted, Silky chased him around the room until he finally made it out the window, which I had stupidly left open.

"What’s wrong with you, you damn cat!" I yelled. Silky just looked at me, smiling. Then she wandered into the next room. I looked out the window. The parrot was nowhere to be seen.

I put the phone back up to my ear.

"Do you know what you’ve done?" I shouted into it. "Gorgonzola just flew out the window. Now I’m out five hundred bucks and I don’t have a bird!"

"Juju’s coming home, Thorngood," said the man.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I’ll be seeing you soon," he said and hung up.

"Okay, Thorngood," I said to myself. "What’s going on here?"

Then I spent twenty minutes looking around the apartment for Silky. She wasn’t in any of her usual places. I couldn’t find her anywhere.

So I poured myself a glass of Scotch and sat down in an armchair. "Here we go again," I sighed. "This is only the beginning."

But I didn’t hear from Mr. Plum again. After two weeks of sleepless nights and anxious days, I called his number but it had been disconnected. Maybe he had died. He had sounded like a very old man, after all. About an hour after I called, Silky jumped in off the fire escape. She headed straight for the bag of liver cat food and started meowing.

That’s just how it goes sometimes. Every adventure doesn’t pan out like it should. I’m more relieved than disappointed but I’m also annoyed. I guess it’s naïve to expect life to follow through. Still, somehow, I always do.