The Incident With The Pigeon

Well, what a busy morning we've had. Picture the scene - I'm still in bed, reading a truly awful bit of chick-lit I found under the bed for want of anything better to read. The Kiwi's on the phone to her dad in Australia. We hear a bit of a commotion going on in the kitchen and, still on the phone, the Kiwi wanders through to find out what's going on. I remain in bed, pondering quite how chivalrous it is for me to leave her to investigate the goings on in our kitchen.

Cue reentry of the Kiwi into our bedroom, wide-eyed, screaming and generally in a state of abject terror, poor father on the other end of the phone and the other side of the world wondering what the dickens is going on.

"OHMYGODTHERESAPIGEONINTHEKITCHENGETRIDOFITGETRIDOFIT"

Now, as I think I've mentioned before, we live on the third floor. Our kitchen window is a sash, and looks out onto the back of the building and that of the building in the next street over. The sash was open this morning, and a great stupid flying rat had managed to get itself into our kitchen and was perched awkwardly on the top of the bottom sash, which was raised up to more or less the top of the window.

Those who know the Kiwi well will know that she has a bit of a thing about birds. For me, this is the first time I've actually encountered a genuine phobia up close. The difference between a mild dislike (oh, I don't care much for birds) and a phobia (running away, shaking, tears) is quite striking. It's a fairly serious and alarming thing to see someone you care about in such distress and I hope this doesn't come across as poking fun at it.

Anyway, back to the story. Still in a complete state, I shut the Kiwi in the bedroom where I think her dad tried to talk her down a bit. Got a dressing gown on and went through to the kitchen where the poor thing was perching on the sash, supporting itself against the window with its wing and eyeing me nervously. A bit of armwaving and verbal abuse later (from me, directed at the bird) and a few headlong flights into the window pane (the bird, not me), it was off.

So the Kiwi is calmed, stops quaking a few minutes later. Finishes conversation with father. I get in the shower to shave my head, as I tend to do of a Saturday morning. 1 minute in, knock on the door. Woeful face appears through it.

"It's pooed."

Histrionics begin again, quietened down and sent to the shop to get breakfast whilst I 'deal with it'.

And so out of the shower, looking like I'm about to have brain surgery with about a quarter of my head shaven and a towel wrapped round me, disinfecting the kitchen. Mentally jacking up my brownie point score.

I think we're ok now - post-breakfast, showered, reading paper and with a kitchen that even C-Difficile wouldn't survive in. I'm off to Dublin next week with work (FOR A MONTH), so you should expect a fair bit of bloggage during that time as I'll be lonely and bored. I'm back for weekends though, so it's not too bad and I'm sort of excited despite being a bit terrified. More on that later - it's lunchtime and I'm hungry again.