lifewithnoborders

I have a stalker but, it’s fine. I bet I know what you’re thinking: You have a stalker. How is it FINE?! It’s definitely not fine. You may also be thinking: How do YOU have a stalker? Who even ARE you? Valid question. But here’s the thing: my stalker is not a person. My stalker is a pigeon. Now some may argue that that’s even worse, and I’m not disagreeing with you. I saw the movie The Birds when I was far too young and it has haunted me ever since.

Birds are unsettling and pigeons are basically rats with wings. Only I would actually prefer rats with wings over pigeons because, at least rats are incredibly smart and you can train them to do cool things. Once on the subway, there was a man with about five pet rats that he had trained to do some fun tricks. They jumped through little hoops, could “stand up” on command, shake paws, and they ran all around him and the subway car and they were all a different neon color, which either means they’re patient little creatures or they were held down against their wills and will eventually become mutants. Either way, I prefer them over pigeons.

So, again I have a stalker and he’s a pigeon. This sort of happened gradually, and I didn’t realize that I was being stalked by a pigeon until it was too late. I have been fortunate enough to be one of the rarest type of people who live in New York City. I have lived in the same apartment the entire time I’ve lived here. This is practically unheard of because there are a million reasons to move in NYC. Rent goes up, roommates kick you out, you find a place closer to work, you move in with a significant other, you get evicted. Really anything is possible. I was super lucky when I moved here to move into an apartment that had already been procured by some friends. I won’t bore you with those logistics but, just know that I’ve lived in the same apartment for my entire NYC life.

The first couple years there were very few pigeons in my life. The standard ones that everyone sees on the street or in the park were the ones that I needed to worry about and I could outrun those if they got any crazy ideas. There would be a few birds around the apartment when the weather got nice but it’s not like we were channeling the crazy bird lady from Mary Poppins or anything. Slowly though, things started to change. I would notice that there was almost always at least one pigeon hanging out outside a window.

Then I started to noticed that one of the pigeons looked familiar. I’d seen him perched up on the fire escape before. You may think that it’s a little odd that I remembered a specific pigeon but, if you saw this guy you’d remember him too. He was the fattest pigeon I had ever seen in my life. I was impressed that he had been able to fly all the way up to the fifth floor fire escape so he stuck with me. Literally. He kept showing back up.

I have no idea why he kept coming back. It’s not like we fed him. I have my avian aversion and my roommate at the time was completely terrified of birds – even more so than I was when I was younger. As far as I know the apartment didn’t have a particular smell that could be attracting him. We didn’t have a ton of mirrors or anything that could attract him but, here he was. Our unofficial third roommate.

This was never really a problem. He had the fire escape and all of the window ledges and we had the entire apartment. This was something that was never discussed but just known. He came around so often that I began to recognize his “coo” over the other pigeons and I could tell him from his little pigeon friends. It was a bit deeper than the others’ and I really do think it’s because he was so fat. He had more of a diaphragm to work with and could have more of a commanding sound come out. Anyway, I had become comfortable with our situation with the pigeon and I let my guard down. And my bedroom window up.

Early one Sunday morning I was sleeping in my bed. The weather was nice so, I had the window open because that’s the closest I ever plan on being to camping. I was suddenly awakened by a sound that I had never heard before. It sounded like a drunk drag queen wearing a feather boa ran into a glass door. I didn’t know if that sound was happening in my dream or in my bedroom so, I ignored it hoping that I was making it up. I heard it again and opened my eyes. I should take the time to point out that I wear contacts/glasses so, when I opened my eyes I couldn’t really see what was happening. I mostly just saw a large, dark shape flying around my room.

I initially thought that this flying shape was a bat. I don’t know why, that’s just where my head went. I froze and tried to sink as deep into my mattress as I could as I watched the shape repeatedly fly into the top of my window. Eventually I figured that it was a pigeon and then I was able to recognize that deep “coo” and I knew EXACTLY who this terror was. Now that I knew precisely what I was dealing with I was able to collect myself a bit. I sat up a little and decided that I could maybe help guide him out of the window. However, my slight movement had scared him (like I’m the one who woke him up to a home invasion) and he just started freaking out even more, thrashing around the window and coo-ing at the top of his fat lungs.

“Relax!” I yelled at him. “I want to get you out too!”

Pigeons are not known for being great listeners so he continued to freak out until he eventually flew down to where the window was open and flew back out into the world. I immediately jumped out of bed and slammed my window closed. Then I locked it. You can never be too safe, you know? I switched on my fan for a breeze and then laid back in my bed. I contemplated the fact that that actually just happened to me. A pigeon flew into my apartment. Just like on that episode of Friends only, unlike Rachel, I didn’t have a pot handy. Still, I had survived and so had the pigeon and I was convinced that was the end of it. He’d never want to come around here again for the fear that he’d get trapped and never be able to leave.

Dumb bird, I thought. The window was open the whole time.

Then I thought about how this was an awful way to wake up and I fell back asleep to restart my day.

∴∴∴∴

Later that week my roommate and I were eating dinner in our living room and talking about how our week was going. We didn’t see each other often so when we did, we tried to do something friendly like eat or drink together and catch up on each other’s lives. I told her about the pigeon home invasion and her face dropped.

“Are you joking?” she said, looking like she’d seen a ghost. “That thing flew into our apartment? Into your ROOM?!”

“Yea”, I tried to sound casual to reassure her that the pigeon was not the one who was in control of the situation, even though he definitely was. “He wasn’t in there for very long. He was scared the whole time. He flapped around a bit and then flew out.”

She just stared at me. “Oh my God”, she said finally.

“At least it wasn’t a bat! Which is what I thought it was without my glasses.”

“Honestly, I’m not even sure which is worse.”

“That’s fair.”

“I don’t know what I would do if that happened to me. I HATE birds. And pigeons are the worst.”

“Right?! Did you ever see that movie The Birds? They pecked out people’s’ eyes!”

“Oh my God, Evan. That’s so gross.”

“Tell me about it. I saw that movie when I was a kid. I don’t think I ever recovered.”

“I never want to see that movie. I can’t.”

“Yea, I don’t think you’d be doing yourself a favor seeing that movie. So, anyway, how was your week?”

We never discussed the pigeon again. Well, that’s not entirely true. My roommate and I never discussed the pigeon again together but, I took full advantage and told everyone I knew about this pigeon. I liked to think that it was a better than average answer to the age old coworker question: How was your weekend?

“Happy Monday. How was your weekend, Brenda?”

“Oh, it was fine. Too short.”

“Definitely too short.”

“How was your weekend?”

“It was alright. A pigeon flew into my apartment and scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”

“WHAT?! Tell me everything.”

Now that’s the story that you want to hear on a Monday morning. Not about how Susie the intern got drunk and hooked up with an inappropriate person AGAIN. I mean, come on, Susie it’s every weekend. Get a new hobby.

∴∴∴∴

About a week or so went by and the story of my pigeon home invasion had lost some of its steam and I had moved past it. Days came and went as the weather was changing from a chilly NYC early spring to a full-on warm weather, no more snow on the ground, everything is blooming finally spring. I think there should really be two springs in NYC because the first one isn’t really fair. There’s almost always still snow on the ground and a cold wind blowing. Real spring doesn’t happen for months later. Then, you get it for maybe a month or a month and a half and then BOOM it’s summer. All in your face and in your nose. There is nothing worse than the smell of NYC in the summertime. It’s disgusting and glorious all at the same time.

So, one real spring evening I came home from work. I had climbed up the five flights of stairs, unlocked my door, and stepped into my apartment. I knew immediately that something was different. I had left the window cracked (not fully open because I learned my lesson, thankyouverymuch) and it was a windy day so, it’s not unusual that some mail may have flown off the table. But this was different.

I slowly made my way through the little entryway and into the living room. Things were awry that not even the strongest wind could displace. Mail was knocked off of the coffee table but, there was more. The games on the table near the window were all in disarray, there were pictures knocked askew, there was much more debris on the floor than your average windy day. And then I saw it. Right there on the black coffee table. A large pile of pigeon shit.

“I KNEW IT!” I yelled to no one.

I started going into the other rooms to ensure that the intruder was gone and that nothing was actually damaged. Luckily, my roommate left her bedroom door closed that day so I wouldn’t have to break the news to her that her worst fear had come true and a dirty pigeon had ravaged the sanctuary that was her bedroom. From what I could tell from my relatively thorough investigation the intruder had only been in the living room. I took a closer look at the window. It wasn’t even open that much! And there were bars on it (not scary bars; they don’t go all the up the entire window. They just prevent the window from opening all the way and a small child or small adult from jumping out)! Between the bars and the small amount that the window was actually open, there wasn’t enough room for a pigeon to fly in. Was there? Surely not one of that size.

It had to be, though. It had to be that same pigeon that had flown into my bedroom window on that fateful Sunday morning. It had to be him because he already knew that he could do it. Maybe he really liked the way the apartment was decorated? Maybe I had created a nice, friendly, and inviting environment and he wanted to come in and hang out. Maybe that’s not how a pigeon’s brain functions but, it’s a nice thought.

At that point, though, I was too outraged to be flattered by a pigeon who was a fan of my interior decorating skills. I slammed the window shut and began fixing the things that had been moved. I quickly picked up the mail, rearranged the games, and cleaned off the coffee table. I knew that would really send my roommate over the edge. To be fair, that is the table that we eat off of so, I get it and I want to reassure you that I was very thorough with the cleaning.

I immediately texted my sister and let her know what had happened. She questioned if I thought it was the same pigeon. I told her that I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was. Then, she confirmed one of my greatest fears. “Evan, you have a pigeon stalker.”

That was it. I was not going to take this lying down. I was discussing my new dilemma with a friend at work and he made a few joking suggestions about getting those weird shiny CD things that people hang from their rearview mirrors in their cars. Something about the way the light catches it scares birds. I reminded him that I’d also have to deal with a blinding reflective light if I went that route. His next suggestion was finding one of those huge inflatable wind characters that they have outside of car dealerships and put it outside of my bedroom window. I told him that I was on the fifth floor.

“That’s perfect!” he exclaimed. “You can put it in the ally on the ground and it will reach up to your window!”

Not a terrible idea and it would be really hilarious to have one of those things just casually in an ally outside of my apartment. I did some research, though, and found out that those things are crazy expensive. This pigeon is annoying and all but, I’m not willing to fork over thousands of dollars for something that I’m positive is some sort of city violation anyway. Then, he finally made a real suggestion and said that my best bet would be to invest in some screens.

After work I stopped in at The Home Depot and bought screens for all of the windows. Adjustable screens so that we could still open the windows and get a nice breeze. Sturdy screens to keep out the bugs and the pigeons. While I was at the cash register paying for my screens, the cashier asked if I had found everything alright.

“Oh yea”, I confirmed. “That guy’s not getting back into my apartment.”

He looked concerned and I almost explained that I was talking about a pigeon and not an actual man but, at this point I was no longer going to give the pigeon the satisfaction of being a fun story anymore.

I arrived at my stuffy apartment with my arms full of screens. The apartment was stuffy because the windows had been closed all day for fear of the pigeon returning. I put the screens in all of the windows and heaved a great sigh of relief.

“How do you like me now, pigeon!?” I exclaimed triumphantly. That was it. The war was over. I had one.

I sent my sister a text to let her know that the pigeon situation had been handled. She said that she was glad and asked me if I had named the pigeon. I hadn’t. This is surprising because I’m usually very quick to name things and I enjoy doing it. I’ve always been this way, since I was a small child. Every stuffed animal, Tamagotchi, iPod, everything always had a name – and a good name too. Not just a teddy bear called “Teddy” or “Mr. Bear”. Use your imagination, kid! I had a stuffed cheetah named Alloeicious Abernathy and a fuzzy panda backpack named Chin Chin (I went to the Columbus Zoo as a kid and was obsessed with those pandas). But I knew that the name for the pigeon would come.

∴∴∴

About a month or so later I was sitting in the living room watching TV. I was lounging pretty hard on the couch and only feeling slightly guilty about it because it was a beautiful day. The fat pigeon and his friends continued to hang out around the apartment. I could hear his fat little “coo” every now and then so I knew he was definitely still around. Sometimes I was convinced that he would follow me around the apartment.

I’d hear him in my room and then I’d go into the kitchen to get some water and I’d hear him again on the other side of the apartment. This could also just be sound carrying through the allies and in between the buildings but, I kind of liked the idea that he was following me around.

As I was lounging I heard the fat pigeon “coo” like I usually do but, there was something different this time. It sounded different. It was still the same fatty “coo” but, there was something off about the tone. It sounded like it was coming from a new place. I shrugged it off and kept watching TV. Maybe it was last night’s alcohol talking.

Then I heard it again and I knew what was different. It was closer. Much closer. I slowly got off the couch and walked toward the direction of the “coo”. In all of my screening of the windows, I remembered that there was one window that remained unscreened because of its size. The bathroom window was small because it’s supposed to be more for ventilation than catching a breeze. But that window was never opened very wide. And the bars!

I crept up to the bathroom and I peeked in through the open door. Then I saw it. Right there, perched up on the wide window ledge was the fat pigeon INSIDE MY APARTMENT AGAIN!

“HEY! YOU GET OUTTA HERE!” I yelled and lept at him.

He scrambled a bit and flapped his wings until he wriggled his way between the bars and flew away. BETWEEN THE BARS! I didn’t even think that was possible because he was so fat. I closed the window so that it was barely cracked. I mean, not even a hummingbird could get through, not to mention an obese pigeon. After I assessed the situation and concluded that there was absolutely no other way for that pigeon (or ANY pigeon) to get into my apartment I went back to my lounging.

∴∴∴

In the summer, I went back to North Carolina for a family reunion of sorts. My sister and her husband had flown in from Denver and she and I stayed up late every night just talking about life and sister things. I told her about the latest and final development with my pigeon stalker and she laughed then asked, again, if I had named him yet. I still hadn’t and I reassured her that I’d know it when it came to me and I’d let her know.

The next day I was talking to my mom and, prompted by my sister, I was telling her the pigeon story in all its glory.

“Evan” my sister said once I was finished. “He just loves you.”

“Well, I’m not looking for anything serious right now, Alfonse!” I retorted.

“Alfonse!” my sister and I said at the same time.

“That’s his name!” I exclaimed.

And just like that, my pigeon stalker, Alfonse was back in my life.