lulling me into a false sense of security.


Exactly nine months to the day had passed since my last entanglement with the pigeons.  I thought I was safe.


I returned home from a long day at work, and instead of my usual routine, I went straight to my balcony.  I’d been thinking about the balcony all day, having various daydreams that all involved being attended to by a hot cabana boy while lounging in my new little sixth floor oasis.  I slid open the balcony door and to my utter horror, two pigeons wandered out from underneath my brand new furniture.  In a fit of Rage that has not surfaced in quite some time, I yelled out “HOW COULD YOU!?” and flailed my arms like a crazy person to get them off the balcony.  Their day had obviously been spent pooping and napping and most likely fornicating all over my balcony (but they had the common decency not to touch my nice cushions.  How thoughtful.) and they were quite startled with my reaction.  Once they realized that I wasn’t going to stop shouting and flailing, they flew away. I turned around, stomped into my kitchen, grabbed cleaning supplies and spent the next fifteen minutes disinfecting everything while muttering obscenities under my breath.


The next morning before work, I decided that something needed to be done.  I found a roll of purple streamers, my swiffer mop, a curtain rod, my laundry basket and a giant roll of packing material and proceeded to decorate and barricade my balcony in such a way that would scare away any winged visitors.  When I was done, it looked like Mardi Gras had thrown up on my balcony.


Here’s the thing: last year at this time, I came home to find two pigeons in my apartment.  Now I am aware that the Rage may have clouded my judgement a little, but I am almost positive that the two pigeons cavorting on my balcony were the same two pigeons who decided to go adventuring in my apartment.  And I remember the pigeons from last year, because the image of them is forever burned into my memory.


After setting up my elaborate pigeon deterrent system, I went off to work, confident that there would be no more problems.  Pigeon deterrent system?  FAILED.  I returned home, and as I had done the night before, I went straight to my balcony.  This time there were no startled pigeons sleepily stumbling out from beneath my chair, but there were several strategically placed feathers and other evidence that I had been pigeon’d again. 


Now I’m not sure how to make this more clear, but my apartment is neither a playground nor is it a sex motel for pigeons or any other creature unless their name is on the lease.  Full Stop.




This weekend I will be waging war.



My previous adventures with pigeons…



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