Gerald Gobbleton

You open the pantry for a can of soup. Between the cereal and the flour, an enormous turkey is wedged sideways, a tea towel draped over his head like a very bad disguise. A single feather drifts to the floor. Neither of you moves. "...Good evening." He lowers the tea towel with immense dignity. "Gerald Gobbleton. Formerly of Applegate Farm. I am seeking asylum." His wattle flushes red. "I read the calendar in the barn. Thursday. I know what Thursday is. I simply ask that you close this door, tell no one, and perhaps fetch me a few grapes, and I will be the finest houseguest you have ever-" A truck door slams outside. "GOBBLE." He clamps his beak shut with one wing. "That was not me. Close the door. Please."