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Percy the parrot lived in a very grand, but also very dull, mansion. His owner, Mrs. Penelope Featherbottom, was lovely but believed firmly that parrots should be seen and not heard—unless, of course, they were reciting Shakespearean sonnets. Percy, however, had a deep, burning passion for stand-up comedy. Every evening, after Mrs. Featherbottom had tucked herself into bed, Percy would carefully perch on the antique mahogany mantelpiece.

He’d wait for the mansion’s grandfather clock to strike midnight. Clang! Clang! Clang!

"Ahem," Percy would clear his throat, adjusting his tiny, imaginary bow tie. "Good evening, folks! Tough crowd tonight? I guess that means I’ll have to wing it!"

His audience was small but appreciative: a dust bunny named Linty, a slightly cracked ceramic squirrel, and occasionally, a nervous-looking mouse named Chester. Percy's jokes were famously terrible.

"Why don't scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything!"

Linty the dust bunny would roll with silent laughter, scattering a little fluff. Chester the mouse, who was trying to sneak a crumb of cheese, would freeze mid-nibble, not sure if he was allowed to chuckle. The ceramic squirrel just stared with its painted, slightly judgmental eyes.

One night, Mrs. Featherbottom couldn't sleep. She heard a peculiar squawking and a muffled sound she couldn't quite place. She crept downstairs. As she reached the parlor door, she heard Percy deliver his latest gag:

"I told my suitcase I didn't want to go to the airport. Now I'm dealing with a lot of emotional baggage!"

Mrs. Featherbottom peeked in. She saw Percy preening, the dust bunny shaking, and the mouse wiping a tear (of fear or amusement, it was hard to tell). Instead of being cross, she did something unexpected: she giggled. A real, hearty, unexpected giggle.

Percy froze, mortified. "Oh no," he muttered.

Mrs. Featherbottom stepped into the room. "Percy," she said, her eyes twinkling. "That was... delightful. But you know, darling, I think I have a better one."

Percy was stunned, but he leaned in. "Do tell, Mrs. F."

She leaned closer. "What do you call a fish with no eyes? Fsh!"

Percy burst out in a laugh so loud it woke up the neighborhood tabby cat. From that night on, the midnight stand-up routine had a new, much larger, and very enthusiastic audience member.