Aunt Joan in 1958
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8/19/26
“Aunt Joan’s Parakeet”
I’ve already gotten myself into hot water with some of my friends over the fate of Milo the cat, whose unfortunate disappearance I talked about in a previous story, so I’m a little nervous about telling this one. But some stories must be told, lest they escape from history.
Aunt Joan, the owner of the late (I presume) Milo, was a genuine lover of pets and, for that matter, animals of all kinds. She took us kids to the zoo a couple of times a year and bought her kids (my cousins) books about talking animals, a prospect I thought to be ridiculous, even at nine years old - my age when all of this took place. As you may already know, she loved cats, but also dogs, rabbits, fish, and last but not least, birds. Aunt Joan had a pet parakeet, not in a gilded cage, but in a stinky wire thing with newspapers on its floor to catch the droppings. The bird’s name was Pretty Pete, a misnomer, I thought, but I was in the minority, for it seemed that everyone else in our extended family liked that bird.
That summer, Aunt Joan, Uncle Dick, and their kids went off to Florida to visit Grandma and catch a little sun, so their pets had to be farmed out. I don’t know who agreed to put up the dogs, cats, fish, rabbits, and I don’t know what all, but Pretty Pete came to live with us for three weeks. My sisters were overjoyed to have a new member of the family, albeit temporarily. I was indifferent, as I had the agenda of playing ‘kick the can’ with the neighborhood kids, and learning to pull wheelies on my bike without Mom seeing me.
After thirty minutes of instruction from Aunt Joan as to how to care for the bird, Daddy hung Pete’s cage in the corner of our living room on a hook he had installed the previous winter for Christmas decorations. Joan blew a kiss at Pete and departed. Pete just stood there on his perch, didn’t chirp, didn’t peck at the seeds, nothing. I thought - What a dumb pet! You can’t romp and play with that thing. Mom said that Pete had to acclimate himself to his new surroundings. Later, after I secretly looked up ‘acclimate’ in the dictionary, I thought Mom was probably right, as she usually was.
About two days after Pete arrived, Mom had to change the newspapers, add seeds and water, and clean the cage. While the cage was open, Pete flew out and landed on the curtain rod, then flew upstairs, then into the kitchen, and all over the house. Finally, things were getting interesting! Mom chased him around at first, but then said she thought Pete would go back into his cage when he wanted seeds and water and she was right, as usual.
Days went by and we kids craved the excitement we had experienced when Pete escaped, so we let him out again. He flew around and around, landing here and there, as all three of us kids laughed at Pete’s antics. But just then, Daddy came home from work, and Pretty Pete flew out the front door and was gone. So, it was joy to misery in seconds, and a lot of trouble, because my sister admitted that we had intentionally let Pete out. Girls!
For a few days, we saw Pete in the trees and on telephone wires. We tried to coax him back without success. Before long, he was gone for good. As Aunt Joan’s return loomed over us, the whole family was shaking in our boots, (Chuck Taylors in my case), and life was tough. If I had known how at that age, I’d have sung the blues.
Just before the day of reckoning, Daddy came home for work with Pete in a much smaller cage and Mom and the girls screamed, jumped around, cried tears of joy, and other mushy stuff. I was dubious about the situation. Yeah, right. Daddy just happened to have a little cage, caught Pete, brought him home just in time - no way. I said, “That’s not Pete.” Daddy said that that we should just look at him “Doesn’t it look like Pete?” The girls were hollering, “It’s Pete, It’s Pete.” I said that it looked like Pete, but it couldn’t be Pete. Mom said “Vance, is that Pete or not?” So, Daddy’s game was up, he could not tell a lie. He had bought an imposter at a pet store.
Mom didn’t think Aunt Joan could be fooled, but they decided to give it a try. Joan finally arrived, still a little sunburned, and went immediately to Pete II’s cage, without saying hello, how are you, anything. She made smacking noises with her lips and said, “How’s my Pretty Pete been? have you missed me?” - as if the stupid thing could answer. Eventually, she thanked Mom and Daddy for caring for Pete, made some small talk, and left with the pretender. As far as we could tell, she never knew the difference.
Tom Mindte
August 2026
Aunt Joan in 1958