There are certain words that change the entire mood of a house.

“Walk.”
“Treat.”
And apparently… “Pancake Day.”

Now Julius may be a cockatoo, but don’t let that fool you—he knows exactly what’s going on when food is involved. Especially when it’s something as sacred as pancakes.

The moment he heard it, you could see the shift.

Head up.
Eyes wide.
Full attention locked in like:
“Excuse me… did someone say pancakes?”

Now here’s the thing about Julius—he’s not just excited. He’s strategic.

Because while Abbi might be down there patiently waiting, Julius is up top running through scenarios.

“Will there be enough?”
“Will I be included?”
“Has Dad forgotten about me before? …Yes. Yes he has.”

And just like that… the anxiety sets in.

He starts pacing. Little side steps on the perch. Leaning forward, listening to every movement in the kitchen like it’s breaking news.

At one point he lets out a sound—not quite a scream, not quite a question—but definitely something along the lines of:
“I would like to formally remind everyone that I exist.”

Because in Julius’ mind, this is a very real possibility:

Pancakes get made.
Pancakes get handed out.
Abbi gets hers…

…and Julius? Forgotten.

Unacceptable.

So he turns up the volume a bit. Not full chaos mode… just enough to keep himself relevant. A whistle here, a chirp there, maybe a dramatic lean like he’s about to give a speech.

All while keeping a very close eye on Dad.

“Don’t mess this up.”

Now when the moment finally comes—and it always does—you can see the relief hit instantly.

He didn’t get overlooked.
He didn’t get skipped.

Order has been restored.

And just like that, Julius goes from anxious supervisor to satisfied participant, enjoying his well-earned share like he wasn’t just mentally preparing for betrayal five minutes earlier.