Moving day is chaotic for everyone. Boxes everywhere, furniture being dragged, people sweating and shouting things like “Where’s the tape?!” and “Why is this box just labeled ‘misc emotional damage’?”

Now imagine all that… with a cockatoo.

Not just any cockatoo.

We’re talking about Julius—our umbrella-wielding, almond-hating (when mad), drama-loving bird king who thrives on routine, attention, and emotional manipulation.

To say Julius did not approve of moving day would be a tragic understatement.

From the moment we unplugged the coffee maker, he knew something was up. He squawked. Loudly. Repeatedly. At first, it was inquisitive: “Whaaaaat’s going on?” Then accusatory: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” And finally… apocalyptic: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!!” We tried to explain. “It’s okay, buddy! We’re just moving to a new house—you’ll love it! More space! Bigger windows! Sunbeams!”

He was not swayed.

He turned his back to us and muttered what we’re 99% sure were bird curse words. When the movers arrived, things really escalated. Julius puffed up like a marshmallow with an attitude and began his one-bird protest. Between every screech, he’d stomp around his perch like a tiny furious dictator, yelling into the void and throwing bird food like it was confetti made of rage.

At one point, he locked eyes with one of the movers and let out the longest, most soul-piercing shriek we’ve ever heard—right as the poor guy was trying to carry a lamp. We’ve never seen a grown man flinch so hard in our lives.

Eventually, it was time to load up his travel cage.

This… this was war.

He clung to the outside of his regular cage like a soap-covered cat. Screeched. Flapped. Refused entry like he was guarding the gates of heaven. It took two people, half a banana, and a bribe involving his favorite mirror toy to finally coax him inside. Even then, he gave us that look—the one that says, “I will remember this betrayal until the sun burns out.” The drive to the new house?

Oh, it was a concert. A dramatic, ear-splitting, high-volume farewell to the home he clearly thought we were going to return to after this “field trip.” And every bump in the road? Met with a dramatic, “WHAAAAAAT?!”

But here’s the twist.

Once we got to the new place and set up his perch by a bright, sunny window?

He went silent. Looked around. Fluffed his feathers. Took a deep breath.

And then gave us a quiet, curious little, “hello?” We might still be on probation, but there’s hope. So, here’s to Julius—the feathered chaos goblin who made moving day unforgettable. We survived the squawks, the drama, the passive-aggressive poop flings… and now we’ve got a bird with a window view and a whole new kingdom to rule. 

Long live the King.

Even if he’s still kind of mad.