my roommate, chirp chirp

There is a small window in my bathroom, right by the toilet. (Try and imagine this while I'm not in there, please.) What a nasty window. It was open when I moved in, and it overlooks what is technically a courtyard but is really a 5 foot by 5 foot, 6-story-tall brick enclosure. It's coated in years of grime on the outside, and the inside is covered in the chunks of plaster that the renovators spilled all over the rest of the bathroom.

Anyway, it's right by the toilet, so I have to see it a few times a day. Just 'cause.

A pigeon made his roost on the outside windowsill. It's a tiny windowsill, so he's pressed up against the grimy glass. He never leaves. Sometimes I forget he's there, but he often...hmm...not a verb for this. You know that gurgly laughing noise pigeons do? No? You've never stuck your face that close to one or had one move in on the windowsill over your toilet?

That noise, he makes that noise. It's of the same genus as the vaguely onomatopoeic "flutter" and "burble."

He's always there. When I tap the glass, he doesn't even notice. I want him to fly away. He stays.

I gave him a name: Dirty F. Pigeon. When I happen to find myself, um, standing in front of the toilet, and he flutters his wings, and the tips of his wings rattle the window like a tiny birdie snare drum, I say, "Get the fuck out of here, Dirty F. Pigeon!!!"

Update:
Almost succeded in relocating Dirty F. Pigeon. Tapping--okay, flicking--the glass doesn't work. But if I rub something on the window (say, a paper towel with Windex on it), he flys away.

I just did this, and started getting ready for bed. Then I heard some serious rattling on my kitchen window. Damn it! Outsmarted by a pigeon. By Dirty F. Pigeon! Smartypigeon.

But I figured it out. I'm gonna make a scarepigeon! Mwaaaaahahahaha! Who's the smart one now, Pigeon?