The Misses Foo & Cockerill

The Stench of Rotten Meat

Miss Foo thought and thought. She must get this right. She needed inspiration, an idea, a solution.

"Oh, Hugo," she said, "oh, Michaela, help me, bring me the answer!"

But she heard nothing.

So she thought some more. She started to think about all the other schemes she had ever done. Maybe there was something in them that she could use. She thought about the time she caused a stampede at the circus and how it took three weeks to finally round of all of the animals, the last crocodile which they eventually found in Miss Foo's bathtub.

She thought about the Hall of Trophies, that petrifying pit in the center of the Manor. That had all started with the parrot and the stew.

"Why, Cockerill," Miss Foo said one day, watching in glee as Miss Cockerill struggled to stuff the parrot into a pot of boiling water, "having trouble?"

"No trouble, tee-hee," Miss Cockerill replied with a red face.

"Foul play! Foul play!" the bird squawked.

"YOU BE QUIET AND GET IN THIS BOILING WATER THIS INSTANT! Tee-hee."

But the parrot refused. Instead it shot her a look that said, "woman, if you think I'm getting in there, you're dafter than a rotten coconut," nipped her on the finger and flew out of the room.

Miss Foo laughed so hard that she fell out of her chair.

After Miss Cockerill failed to cook the bird she was very flustered and never wanted to see another winged animal again. She had scratches on the back of her hands and parrot poop on her best Wednesday-afternoon dress. So she let the bird fly off around the house, sure that it would fly out sooner or later. But before it even had a chance, Miss Foo got to it. That night, when the parrot was perched on top of a cabinet, asleep, Miss Foo snuck up and pulled a sack over the poor bird. You're all decent folk so I won't tell you what she did next, but suffice to say that was the end of the parrot. But it wasn't the end of Miss Foo's scheming.

She took the body of the parrot, attached a string to its beak, and glued it to the headboard of Miss Cockerill's bed. Then, in a passable impression of a parrot's voice, she began chanting, "Vaingloriaaaaa Cockerilllllll, Vaingloriaaaaa Cockerilllllll," over and over until Miss Cockerill woke up screaming, "Who's there?!"

"Vaingloriaaaaa Cockerilllllll," Miss Foo said once more, pulling on the string so that the parrot's beak moved as she spoke, "I curse you. I curse you, Vaingloria Cockerill."

Miss Cockerill was holding the covers up to her chin like a scared child. "C-c-curse me? What for?"

"For shoving me in that pot. I curse you so that all birds that see you coming will squawk and scream."

Miss Cockerill considered this. "That's it? That's not so bad. They do that anyway."

"I'm not finished," said the parrot-Miss Foo. "AND, I curse you so that shall turn into a toad!"

This was really terrible news for Miss Cockerill. So terrible that she passed out directly. Miss Foo, chuckling evilly to herself, unglued the parrot from the headboard.

"That was a delicious trick," she said to herself. "Cockerill will wake up terrified. I think I'll keep this," she shook the body of the poor bird, "somewhere where she can always remember it."

And that is how the parrot came to the Hall of Trophies

As time passed and the feathers fell off the parrot, Miss Cockerill began to dress it in doll clothes and makeup. She thought that perhaps that she could save herself from the curse by doing so. Soon there was nothing left but a parrot's skeleton in a top hat and pocket watch.