Zoltan means sultan. Zoltan means ruler. Zoltan, upon arrival at his foster home, appears to have taken this title as a job description.
He came in with both wings fractured and left untreated long enough that the bones fused in misalignment — a permanent situation that grounded him completely. He will not fly again. This information was apparently processed and filed under irrelevant, because Zoltan has identified what he considers a more pressing concern: the people in his foster home are not responding to his requests with sufficient promptness, and something must be done about this.
He is working on it. He has opinions about the pace of service, the quality of attention, and the general level of awareness his foster family maintains regarding his needs at any given moment. He communicates these opinions clearly, and with conviction. He is not a bird who leaves you wondering where you stand. You stand in his domain, and he would appreciate it if you conducted yourself accordingly.
He is also, it must be said, extremely funny — in the way that very confident, very small creatures with outsized expectations tend to be funny. The gap between what Zoltan believes he is owed and what a small bird can reasonably demand is significant, and he has elected to ignore it entirely.
What Zoltan actually needs is simply a loving home with flat, safe ground-level spaces for him — no flight means no need for height, and he has adapted to his terrestrial existence with the air of someone who has simply reclassified the entire situation as beneath his dignity to discuss. He gets around. He explores. He rules, in the way available to him.
Somewhere out there is a home with people patient enough to receive his requests, good-humored enough to appreciate the delivery, and wise enough to recognize that being chosen by a tiny feathered sultan is genuinely an honor.
Zoltan is accepting applications.
