I was late leaving the house and rushing. I didn't rush enough to catch my bus; I walked the full four miles. Then we had a new person start and what with one thing and another I had a busy day. It wasn't until I was within a block of the house that I wondered about Blake. I could remember giving him fresh food and water and wheeling his cage in front of the living room window so he could look out, but...
I forgot either to put the stick in his door (which means that if he hops hard onto the dishes that latch into the door, he can bounce the door open) or to close the door at all. This I saw through the window as I raced up the steps, because his cage was empty (or full of everything but bird). I opened the door carefully not to squish him, then proceeded through the house at a trot, calling for him. The toilet had no cockatiel in it. I glanced into the bedroom: there he was.
He had spent the day on my fleece sock by the bed. He didn't seem particularly hungry or thirsty and in fact just wanted to return to his sock. His tail was filthy because he had squatted horizontally on a sock instead of standing vertically on a perch and occasionally taken refuge under the dusty bed (for a nearer ceiling than the actual one), so the most traumatic thing part of the experience was my taking an old, dampened toothbrush to his precious tail.
Good thing I don't have a dog.