pushed with all my considerate might. (We Shifters are some strong son-of-a-guns.) Ignoring the squeaking and screeching of the rusty hinges relentlessly and maliciously attacking my poor, overly sensitive Canary ears, I was on a mission. Refusing to give in as said feathered entity with whom I shared my brain, otherwise known as Cassandra, squawked, “Why the hell are we here? We should be packing. Booking a flight. Getting the hell outta Dodge. I thought that’s what you were doing when you tore outta the driveway like your tail feathers were on fire. You know Cora. Not even the floodwaters of a hurricane will stop that kooky Crane. She's gonna show up here in Tallulu sooner rather than later, and she won’t be able to keep her damned mouth shut. She’ll tell everybody, especially that hunka-hunka-prehistoric hottie T-Rex, Tank, that you know he's your Mate and that you're already silly, goofy in love with him."
Powerwalking my ass right on into the massive foyer and under the crystal chandelier that some silly benefactor had given Doc Horace the week the Hall opened, I grumbled back at my Canary, "Yeah, I know. However, if we leave town, she'll still open her mouth and tell all our secrets, and we won't be here to…"
“Exactly! We. Won’t. Be. Here.”
“If you’d let me finish a single thought…”
“I try to let you finish. Really, I do, but you’re so slow, and I have so many good things to say. I just…WATCH OUT!”
Ducking before I knew what fresh hell had befallen me. Only because the Canary perched inside my brain was screaming her fool head off. I would never ever admit how thrilled I was to be flat on my stomach, with my nose pressed against the cracked, but properly sterilized, tiles of the floor of Bailmore Hall at that very moment. (Admitting that Cassandra had been right for screaming her fool head off would've meant that she could hold that shit over my head forever, and she already had enough ammunition of my misdeeds to keep her busy for a century or two.)
Throwing my hands over the back of my head before the extremely long, straight-as-an-arrow, would-feel-like-a-dagger-if-it-sliced-into-my-delicate-porcelain- skin True Parrot’s tail impaled my brain, I held my breath and prayed with every ounce of religion I'd ever known to escape all bodily harm. It didn't matter that I was well acquainted with the four-foot-eleven-inch wailing woman attached to that tail. Or that she had flaming red feathers covering her head and chest. Or that bright blue and brilliant yellow plumage adorned her back. Or that a set of big-girl wings was flapping like it was the second coming of the great Goddess wearing a bikini and sporting a perm. The crazy Birdbrain was flying without a license while heavily medicated, and worst of all, heading straight for me.
Holding perfectly still as the backdraft of being divebombed damn near straightened my hair and most definitely dried the back of my T-shirt, I almost jumped out of my skin and crapped my pants when from somewhere over my left butt cheek, Pauline screeched, “Hey, Clementine, glad to see you. We’ve missed ya’ ‘round these parts. The girls are down in the lounge.”
Raising my elbow and peeking under my armpit, I yelled at the south end of the northbound True Parrot Shifter, "Thanks, Pauline. Missed you, too, sort of. Had to be a better way to say hi, though. Wasn't that kind of a close call?"
"Not even," came her clipped retort before she added with a maniacal cackle, "You ducked in plenty of time." And that, my friends, is the kind of answer you get from a True Parrot Shifter who, on occasion, thinks she might just be a Chipmunk, or a Red Fox, or even a Jersey Cow. (There was one time in high school old Pauline was sure that Godzilla had taken over her body while she was on a date with Dash Rippleroar, star quarterback and Brahma Bull Shifter. She swore up and down that while munching on popcorn and watching the midnight showing of Return of the Creature from the Black Lagoon at the Starlight Drive-In, the one and only giant lizard with legendary movie star status highjacked the spirit of her Parrot and went on a rampage. Homecoming was canceled for the next four years. I'm sure I have pictures somewhere. Good times. Good times.)
Biting my tongue, refusing to argue with the person holding the record for the longest stay at the Home for