Lame Adventure 247: Sleeping or Dying?

I have not been having a banner week.  I’ve overslept every day. I keep missing my regular train coming into the office. I’ve been arriving later than usual.  Once at the grind I’ve been fact checking and proofreading a 365 page tome about tile that I fully expect I will encounter again should Hell exist and I become a resident.  Completely exhausted half a page into my punishing assignment, I remove my glasses, rub my eyes, and when I put my glasses back on, what do I see but this puffy pigeon perched on the ledge outside my window.

Not looking good.

I ask my colleague, Ling:

Me:  Do you think this pigeon’s sick or sleeping?

Ling gets up and looks at the bird.

Ling:  It’s not asleep.  Its eyes are open.

She returns to her desk and the pigeon closes its eyes.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz or death rattle?

Me:  Hey, I think it’s asleep now.

Ling gets up to look at it again.  The pigeon opens its eyes.

Me:  Wait, forget it.  Its eyes aren’t closed.

Ling sits back down.

Ling:  You should quit looking at it.

Me:  You’re right.

I take out my camera and start photographing it.  Ling flashes the I-cannot-believe-this-stupidity-of-yours look but holds her tongue, her way of ignoring the situation and probably hoping the culprit will go away — the pigeon or me.

I hear Elsbeth, our boss, stirring.  She has just printed something and is approaching the copier directly across from my desk.  I resume proofreading.  Elsbeth returns to her office.  I resume my pigeon-watching and ask Ling:

Me:  What if it dies?  What do I do then?  This pigeon is directly in my sightline.  Am I going to be stuck staring at a pigeon corpse rotting on my sill for weeks?  I dread that!

Ling:  Call Jose and he’ll deal with it.

Jose is our go-to building services guy.  He’s always been someone I can count on.  I take a closer look at the Urban Wildlife on the Sill.

Me:  First, the economy tanks, and now this.  Does the suffering ever end?

Ling:  It’s a pigeon.

Me:  I know that, but I hate to see a creature* suffer.

*If it was a rat scurrying on my windowsill, I am certain that my compassion would shoot straight out that window.

Ling:  Seriously, quit looking at it.

I take Ling’s advice and resume proofreading for a ten count.  Then, I sneak another peek at the feral avian.  All that I can see is a tail feather.  It’s now moved to the corner where it’s nestled against the brick wall.  Since I have transformed myself into an Animal Planet reporter I provide Ling with an unsolicited update about the pigeon’s progress.  She distinctly looks like someone that would prefer to change the channel possibly to the Shut the Hell Up Network.  I return to my desk and proofread another half-sentence but since I can only glimpse that tail feather, I’m quickly back on my feet.  Ling looks at me.  She screams inside her head:

Ling:  SIT DOWN AND QUIT THE BIRD WATCHING!!!!!!!!!!

Then, a miracle happens.

Resurrected and refreshed!

It flies away.  I am elated.  I focus on proofreading for the remainder of the day but craving squab.  I suffer fresh guilt.