The blue jay

The blue jay - Cecil Bunnell

Last week, I promised my mom I would paint her kitchen, when I’d get some time off from work.

Today, I finished much earlier than usual, and I went by to see what had to be done. She already had the paint and the rollers, plus one or two sponges. When I arrived, she wasn't home. I used my key to get in. She had already prepared everything. The furniture was removed and the cabinets were covered with sheets of plastic.

I went back to my truck to pick up some working clothes. I changed and started to paint.

Two hours later, I felt tired and I took a break. I sat down on one of the green old chairs that mom had in her kitchen. I lit a cigarette and I was looking around. I was tapping with my fingers on the right arm of the chair. I noted that the green paint was coming out. Underneath there was a layer of yellow paint. My mom had these chairs for over twenty years. I always remembered them being green. I didn't recall them yellow. She or dad must have painted them when we were kids.

While I having my smoke, suddenly, with the corner of my eyes, I saw something moving nears the patio door. I turned my head instantly in that direction. I lifted my eyes and saw a beautiful blue jay bird. It sat right there, in front of the door, near the big pot of flowers that my daughters waters daily.

I stood in awe, with no movement, controlling my breath. I wanted to admire it more without being considered a threat. The door towards the patio was open, and the blue jay seemed to be tempted to step in. The bird looked at me and turned its head in the opposite direction.

The bright cobalt colour of its feathers gave them a velvety look. I wished I could have taken a photo of it. That would have been a great snapshot, worthy of being uploaded on my G+1 page.

So, there I was, glued to my mom's kitchen green chair, admiring one of the most beautiful native North American birds, when my cell phone rang.

Both, the bird and I, got startled. The blue jay flew away and I started to laugh. I answered my phone. It was my wife. She sounded worried. She said that she was cleaning the basement, and discovered that we had mold. She asked me if I knew anyone doing mold removal Montreal.

She wanted to take action immediately, fearing that we all could get sick. I told her I would be home in one hour and I would have a look to see what we could do.