And there are the pigeons.
Like everywhere else in the world, our Galmien pigeons leave a mess of poop and feathers, and generally contribute nothing to society.
Being a native NewYorker, pigeons have always just been a part of the scenery.
But it's one thing to see a legion of pigeons on your metal roof. It's another to hear them.
The first few days my mom was here, she waged war with the winged squatters . . . armed with a broom, she let them know who was boss. After a few banging tirades, they found another roof and filed a Change-of-Address form with the post office.
They were gone.
Or so I thought.
Two days ago I started to notice some soft scratches coming from above. I thought nothing of it. Then yesterday, just as I was falling asleep for a much-needed nap, I was startled awake by a thump which was followed by an array of clicking, clacking, and clattering.
In an angry tirade (HEY!! Those stupid birds woke me up from my nap!) I grabbed my broom and ran outside.
There they perched . . . scattered across my roof.
Forgetting I was already holding my broom, I bent down and picked up a rock.
I launched it into the air.
It went up, then straight back down next to my feet. The birds silently mocked me.
I picked it back up and lobbed it again.
This time it landed a few feet in front of me, but still quite a ways from the roof.
The bored birds blinked at me and shifted their weight from one claw to the other resulting in that awful sound a metal shovel makes as it scrapes snow from an asphalt driveway.
That's when I remembered the broom.
I lunged toward the house and with a might CRASH-BOOM-BANG my enemies retreated. They fled for nearby branches or another corner of the roof. So I swung again.
When I returned from work (having never gotten my nap, mind you) I found them there again. This time, my rock throwing was a little more successful and the pigeons left without much fight.
Naïvely, I thought I had won. I went to sleep last night to the sound of silence above me, and I was satisfied with my victory.
Little did I know they were perched, waiting, ever so silently conniving their attack plan.
At six-thirty this morning my alarm went off as it always does. I hit snooze, as I always do.
And just as I rolled to doze back into my slumber, those stupid birds began practicing their tapdance routine!
The harder I tried to ignore them, the louder they tapped and the faster they danced.
'GO AWAY YOU STUPID BIRDS!' I screamed at them. I'm certain now that my outburst only encouraged their jig.
I jumped up, grabbed a sweatshirt and wrap around skirt to throw over my pajamas, ripped my broom from it's resting place and fumbled for my keys.
As I flung the front door open, those stupid birds froze mid-saché.
In the midst of my rage I had a lucid moment . . . 'Hey, those birds are sitting on the roof just off to the side of my window . . . EXACTLY ABOVE MY BED!!!!' And while I was impressed with the precision of their tactical positioning, that really boiled my blood!
That was the last straw!
Maybe it was my awesome death stare, or the fire shooting from my nostrils, but all it took was one quick step forward with my broom raised and they were out of there!
You better believe, this means war!