Well, I wasn't prepared for this. Genetic engineering really is only my minor. I majored in Music Education, and do a helluva good job at it, if I do say so myself.

The genetic engineering project was supposed to be more kid friendly. A cockatoo and a persian cat, gene spliced, to for some sort of mutated mix. The math (something I'm freely admitting to be poor at) implied more of a cat's head. I got the bird head. Must have not carried the three.

Anyway.

I'm going to have to raise it now. There's no getting out of that. The laws are pretty explicit. You make it, you own it. No refunds.

I'm just a little concerned, though. This picture was taken within three minutes of the hatching. It's been three hours now and I can no longer hold it in my hands.

And it's looking at me like it's wondering where it left the English Mustard.

But before I go - and go permanently by the looks of it - I need to name it. Percatoo.

Or should it be Cocasian

No. Welcome to the one and only Percatoo.

Beware the claws.