I am living with a feathered demon named Ember. He is in his twenties and I just squirted him with a water bottle. He is an African Grey Parrot and if you have never lived with one, then you have no concept of what hell sounds like. When they don't get exactly what they desire with great urgency, they make a certain noise. It is called the Grey Growl, and it follows the path from your ears to a place of pain on your spine and below. I have no description for this delightful music other than to mention that it flows about my house frequently. He is a great bird and a most entertaining little fellow, until his demands remain ignored.
I wish I could get people to cater to me upon threat of a simple noise. I know I have been bested by a little featherbrain. He wins. He always wins. He is my teacher. Never give up. Hide from the squirt bottle, but keep up the goal of reaching your desire, no matter who wished you would do something else.
On a sad note, they killed demon Crowley on Supernatural last night. The angel burned his bones. The show is over. I only keep TV from this day forward in the hopes he can pop back into existence as easily as the human characters do. I loved that snarky, pompous little fellow as much as my own personal king of hell. Charm is an underrated source of power.
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