This is Harley, getting Night Time Scritches on the towel rack in the bathroom.

The bathroom is a very interesting place, what with the mirror, and the odd combination of pink fixtures and blue tiles (those tiles are blue in real life, not grey), and the built-in perch with the towels that are so much fun to chew on and tear apart. Although bathing possibilities are — frankly — rather dull, the bathroom itself is fun, and Harley gets to go there regularly. I'm sure the nightly Perch And Tear The Towels Apart ritual started when Bruce was out of town, and Harley leaned me around the apartment to look for him. Anything that cute gets repeated in perpetuity.

You know, maybe.

The Night Time Scritches On The Towel Rack is a newer phenomenon, and — hopefully — is replacing the Nightly Screeches At The Brush.

My apartment building is rather old and full of things that should really get fixed, but I've decided to move, instead. You know, at some point. To the left of this photograph is a line of plaster that has started to chip where water occasionally runs down when my upstairs neighbors occasionally do. . . something. Harley thinks chewing at the plaster chips is a really great game, but obviously he shouldn't play it. So I started putting a brush in front of the chips, which he can just reach when he sits on the end of the perch towel rack, and so the new game is Screeching At The Brush. Which, considering the odd acoustics in the bathroom and the neighbors, is not really a game you want to be playing ever, much less at Harley's bed time.

So really, Night Time Scritches On The Towel Rack is a much better game than Screeching At The Brush. And even though Harley would accept scritches for much longer than you could possibly believe, I don't mind playing the game, particularly on those days when he hasn't gotten many scritches.

The only real question is, "Do I want to be playing these games for the rest of my life?"

Screeching At The Brush — no. Perch And Tear The Towels Apart — sure, why not? Night Time Scritches On The Towel Rack — only until Harley learns that he'd get unlimited scritches if he would sit on my knee.

Before I tell this story, let me point out that nobody got hurt. Bruce was both shocked and appalled when he first heard it, but you can go ahead and laugh right from the beginning. Really.

You see, Harley loves paper bags. I learned this because I often stick paper products in his face, and he obligingly tears them up into small pieces. One day I stuck a big paper grocery bag in his face, and not only did he chew up the edge into small pieces, he started climbing onto the edge. As if it were a stiff cardboard box. Which it wasn't. That would support his weight. Which it wouldn't. Lucky for both of us, I managed to put my hand under his feet as he climbed inside, and transfered him and the bag onto the kitchen counter. But grocery bags are big, and the counter is small, so I've tried him out on other bags.

Lunch bags work well, and — surprisingly — wine bags are a favorite. Not the average sack used for bottles of wine, but rather the slightly larger size used by Trader Joe's. Harley walks completely inside to chew the bottom of the bag, and then all the paper under his feet as he slowly backs out again. This one is a medium-sized grocery sack, and is the biggest that will fit comfortably in the kitchen.

The only problem with the Bag Game is that Harley likes to play it on the kitchen counter. No matter how many times I set one out on the coffee table, which is pretty big and only about a foot and a half high, he ignores it. But if I put one on the kitchen counter, tiny and about three feet high, he practically dives inside.

So you can see where this story is going.

Usually, I stand right next to the counter and watch the Finsters while Harley is destroying a paper bag. In fact, I often hold the bottom, so Harley won't nudge the bag right over the edge as he's tearing it up to try to get to my fingers. The Incident occurred when I'd just gotten the new hard drive installed on my laptop, and was distracted by software updates. Now, the computer was on the couch — which, in my small apartment was only about eight feet away from the counter. And I spent most of my time holding the bag for Harley, and only a few moments here and there tending to the computer. Really.

But as is always the case, accidents happen when you're not looking, and Harley fell to the floor, still in the bag.

Now, in my defense, Harley has gotten startled off of much higher spots — but usually he manages to glide just enough with his clipped wing feathers to have a relatively easy landing. And, shortly after the Incident Harley fell off the very same kitchen counter — all of his own doing — and didn't have enough space to glide. And he totally survived.

But still, falling three feet while inside a paper bag can't be very fun.

However, he stepped right up onto my finger, and happily climbed right inside the bag again once I put it back onto the counter. No trauma, no fear of bags, no nothing. Phew!

Meanwhile, I still hadn't finished setting up the computer. Don't worry! No instant replays. But I toyed briefly with opening the drawer, so Harley wouldn't have so far to fall if he nudged the bag off the counter again.

No such luck. Turns out flatware and miscellaneous junk is much more interesting than a brown paper sack.

My brother-in-law's mother died early this morning. My brother-in-law and his father loved her, among others. That's all that matters.

Alex, the Congo African Grey that was the subject of Irene Pepperberg's research on bird intelligence, died on September 6. He was 31. See more at the Alex Foundation, apparently they don't know why he died, though. The New York Times published a fantastic photo of Alex (pops), taken by Mike Lovett of Brandeis University.

Number three, which may not count, is my laptop's hard drive, which "died" the evening of September 8th. The Lead Genius at the Apple store informed me of the bad news yesterday; I spent the next 24 hours deciding I couldn't justify the $700 to $1,500 or more for data recovery, and got the drive replaced this afternoon. I'm nowhere near set up, but enough to get going.

While I was very good about backing up my web sites (onto my laptop), I wasn't so good about backing up the laptop. There are photos I know I've lost, bookmarks, e-mail addresses, the master version of the Tumbly Finsters that serves as the "logo" of this site right now. Nothing crucial, though. At least, I don't think so. And I hope that what I don't remember, won't turn around and bite me in the ass at any point. Fingers crossed.

(And please, if you know an eight-year-old who is great at data recovery and likes getting paid in old Star Trek action figures, don't tell me! It's too late now.)

I know I lost a few recent pictures of Harley, but I also have a few still on the camera, and I can always take more.

I found the big, original photo of this picture of Peanut, one of my favorites, which has me feeling much more comfortable about the loss of unknowns:

Look at that Tiny Tongue! I don't think I ever felt Peanut's tongue, it was so tiny. But Harley's tongue is very soft. I had no idea that parrot's tongues were so soft.

Anyway, I realize a computer hard drive doesn't come close to the loss of a friend, but I'm really hoping it counts in the "rules of three," if such a thing exists for bad news. I'd like to be done with loss for now.

In the US, all airplane pilots are required to carry an Airport/Facility Directory for the geographical area they're flying in. These are published by the Federal Aviation Administration. Although they're not very expensive, the FAA publishes new ones for each geographical area every three months. Lucky for us, we have a bird who is good at reusing paper products!

It's a great little book, with a card stock cover and softer paper inside. If Harley poops on it, we just cut out the offending bits. And if he gets really messy, we can just turn the thing over. Plus, coffee stirrers tucked into the pages are really fun to chew, and pull out. And if you put a pony bead on a stirrer — well. Brilliant!

The only downside is when Harley flaps his wings after one of his chewing and tearing sessions.

It has been a year and a day since Peanut moved into the freezer.

Where is that menacing little zombie when you need him?