Saturday, May 16

I used to talk about Marie-France all of the time... a pigeon who somehow managed to find refuge in the gaps between my 300 year old walls. Marie-France would walk around cooing and strutting and doing other annoying pigeon things at all sorts of inappropriate early hours of the morning. I would be comfortable in my bed, enjoying that moment in between asleep and awake when the sheets conform to your body and are softer than they will ever be, and cluck cluck coo coo went Marie-France, waking me from my peaceful bliss. I cursed her name every morning and began considering whether or not it was worth it to punch holes in my walls to find her... and then one day, she was gone. Just like that. It was the first day I noticed that I had slept until 9:30 without interruption that I realized she was mysteriously absent, and that I was mysteriously relaxed and rested. For two years I lived in peace (obviously not counting those times when my guardienne decides 6:00 am is the perfect time to sort the glass recycling), a glorious, pigeon-free peaceful Parisian existence with baguettes and accordion music and berets and strikes. Then, last week, I was up at 6:30 making myself a cup of coffee when I heard a most unsettling scratching noise coming from behind the stove. The sound of claws against loose drywall... and then, I heard the cooing as I formed my angry fists of fury:

Pigeon in my walls
Loud early morning cooing
Murderous rage