It is I, Chico, your Cockatiel boyfriend.
I am writing you this missive -- pecking out each letter with my surprisinlgy vice-like beak -- because I can not bear to say good-bye to you face to face. Yes, my darling Nan, our time together has come to an end.
Do not cry, mi reyna. I know this will be hard on you. I know there will be tears. Tears, much like the tears you shed when I pulled out strands of your hair, whilst perched on your shoulder; only these tears will not be accompanied by your cursing. Nor will they end with me pooping on your shoulder as you use phrases no true lady should employ. Not that I'm judging you, Nan.
Our two-week love affair has been delightful.
Well, maybe not delightful.
Don't get me wrong. There were moments of delight. I know you enjoyed my songs. I have really mastered the opening notes of O Canada. If all goes according to plan, in another five years I'll have another five notes memorized.
However, I'm not going to miss your dos hijos. Those loud little heathens scare the caca right out me.
I also know, cuchura, that you will miss me in the evenings. You will think of me when you don your yellow rubber gloves and do the dishes. Oh, such great memories I have. You doing the dishes. Me sitting, and pooping on your shoulder while pretending your fingers were succulent yellow worms that I would consume if only I could get close enough.
In the future when some other creature nibbles on your ear, or chomps on your nasal septum, think of me, Nan. And smile.
Te voy a echar de menos, mi princesa.
The Grumpy Cockatiel