the daily life of an almost normal household's inhabitants

We had to paint the bird cage for the white room, and this is how we discovered that the purple horse had disappeared. The horse had escaped and was hiding somewhere among the stuff waiting to be ordered. Only the turquoise ribbons had stayed on top of the cage, they obviously couldn't run away (they could fly, though, stupid..). 
Renewing the cage with white spray paint on the terrace was fun (I felt a bit like a street artist every time I heard the pea while shaking the can) except I underestimated the wind, and found out suddenly my hand was all white. I didn't care much though, since daydreaming  under the spring sun was a much better thing to focus on. 
When the paint was dry, we looked for the horse, but that was after she came home and asked me if I had changed the tire of my bike- which I hadn't done yet - since it was not flat anymore (If I didn't, who the hell did? Devil knows..). 
We found the horse eventually on the sofa mingling with little elephants, (which seems weird but well, what would you expect of a purple horse?) and we convinced him to get in the cage, providing the door would always be open of course.
And yet it was time to take care of the deer, already pawing the ground with legs it never had,  or were long forgotten, because "the white frame, he said, would look very nice around his neck." 
It does look nice actually. 

the multiple uses of an aquarium

I jumped off my bike in the street right by the cathedral for a more than necessary coffee and waved back at the one who had once decided his professional career would be "blowing down this tube and making noises", which made him...a musician. The coffee was good, the cigarette too, but the wedding party going on inside, together with the cold that was hitting us outside made us quickly move to another place to have another coffee and lazy Saturday morning chat. We somehow ended up talking about our fathers who seemed to have some sort of similar mania: fixing it all themselves, leaving dismembered machines and devices of all kind in the sacred place of the house called "woman-don't-dare-to-touch,-order-and-don't even-think-of-throwing-away-anything-you-find-here". Rings a bell? 
My dad loved to go to flea markets on Sunday afternoon, we would call it the "bric-a-brac" and me and my sister equally hated going there. Old stuff, from electric wires, car pieces, furniture, stuff, stuff , books, records, stuff. Seems what my dad loved most was the "stuff" part. 
One day, somehow, my dad brought something he hadn't consulted with my mother, which was a piece of furniture with an aquarium on top of it. My mother asked what for, and he answered as if it was the most obvious thing on earth, that we would put fish in it. The only little problem was that the aquarium glass was cracked, so no water would stay there. But my father would fix it....
Months later, the aquarium was still there, empty, whereas the storing space beneath it was already full of stuff (cables, plugs, screws, and other non identified (not yet flying) objects. But my father came with another surprise: two live chickens! 
My mother was to ask again what for, and the answer was just as obvious: well to eat of course, for these were farm free range chickens, bought on the road from the airport, thus better quality of food. And again, there was only one slight issue: who was going to kill them? My mother flatly refused to be in charge, and my father didn't comment it, he just mumbled that he would fix that...too. 
Now he had to do something with the two wiggling chickens, so he put them...
in the aquarium, where they lived happily for about two weeks.

No need to mention that we never ate the chickens.
My father probably hasn't given up yet the aquarium fixing idea, since it is still stored somewhere at the back of his garage.