Damn, it seemed like he'd been waiting a long time. He had lain down, hoping that a hand would come to pick him up and carry him out of the cage, and he'd known that there were people in the house. But it had been six days now, and no one had come.

Bastards. Who the hell did they think they were, leaving him to rot like this? Although, speaking of rotting, his body was still in pretty good shape, come to think of it.

How could that be? He'd died six days ago. He'd looked down and seen the crumpled remains of the canary he used to be. He'd felt the power that comes with moving beyond the realm of the corporeal.

Still, he had a cramp in his left leg, which struck him as a pretty damned mundane thing for a radioactive ghost to have to put up with. Or maybe he wasn't actually dead, but merely stunned. That would suck, certainly, but he had to concede it was a possibility.

"Oh," he muttered, struggling to him feet, "screw it." He hopped over to his seed dish and cracked a couple of the black ones.