Last night I dreamt that, after all these years, either Frank or Sally showed up again, alive. This was no menacing little zombie, come back to life, demanding seeds and human brains. Somehow, the bird had managed to stay alive, in hiding, and it was just at that moment in the dream that I discovered it again.
This seems perfectly reasonable, because I'm not the best at cleaning. In reality, my tolerance for dirt does NOT leave piles of tasty seeds in private spots, like little Easter eggs to be found by hungry birds. Dust, yeah — layers of it. But not piles of seeds. But in the dream world, it was possible.
In fact, we'll call the dream bird Sally, since she once DID live in the general apartment instead of the Finsterium for a day or two. I'd been away on a trip, and she somehow managed to get out without the bird sitter noticing. It was her sweet peeps coming from the office that helped me find her.
Dreams are weird, huh?
I have this kind of dream about my mom; rather than being dead these past 25 years, she's been someplace we couldn't find her. I'm always terribly glad she's home, but afraid to embarrass her by asking where's she's been for the last two and a half decades when we thought she was (ahem) you know...dead. In the dream, whenever I start to ask her, my dad snarls at me not to upset her...
Sally didn't happen to give you any details, did she? Nah, these finsters like to keep things to themselves too.