It’s not a Raven from Edgar Allan Poe’s famous literature. It’s not a wild frenzy of ‘Psycho’ … ahem, ‘Birds’ from Alfred Hitchcock movies. It is, however, a persistent little Tufted Titmouse.

This little rascal comes to my door every day. It grips its claws on the screen and leans over to tap, tap, tap and tap on the glass.

The tapping isn’t the only thing it does. It mercilessly sings. Well I used to call it singing, but I think it is actually using “Fowl” language at me.

I have a bird feeder out back, and I haven’t put seed in it for years. I don’t know where this bird got the idea it would have any.

It doesn’t matter. “By golly” to this little bird, there is supposed to be seed in there. I’ve tossed cracker crumbs out, my shredded wheat cereal and bread on the ground. None of that appeases it.

It actually picks up the bread and settles on the screen again to spit it back in my face. Oh, he’s real knowledgeable at how he does it too. He fluffs up and makes himself look like a big bad bird while he spits out the bread … kind of like how a dog gets all bristled up when he wants to fight.

I’ve found myself actually talking to this little evil bird. I told the little “twerp” I would get it some seeds. I failed. Nope, I didn’t get the feed, I forgot.

I paid for it though.

It wreaked havoc on me the next day. Tapping was harder and the “fowl” talk was even nastier.

I decided to slide the screen door back and lay some cracker crumbs in the railings. That seemed to work. He must have wanted a way to perch on something while dining.

I went a bit further with my curiosity: I opened the door a bit more so he could actually come in, if he wanted to.

He did!

He flew to the dining room chair and sat there for about 10 seconds. I also noticed he deposited his thoughts. It dribbled down the edge of my chair to my carpet.

I’ve been making sure I pay attention to what he is bugging me about and how he works his schedule.

My place is breakfast, 7:30 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. Someone else is probably brunch. Then some worm or bug pokes its head out and becomes dinner.

Needless to say, he seems to have his groove on. His daily life is just doing what he does.

I grew up hearing about little old ladies that have 29 cats and I laughed about it. I’ve got one bird and I love it. Doggone thing has a personality that is im”peck”able.

Oh, I forgot to tell ya, he doesn’t use “Fowl” language anymore. He flies up to the door now and thumps the glass just to let me know he is there. Then he chirps a couple of quick lines. He is pushy at making sure I notice he is there. And he really has a pretty song in that beak of his.

I guess I will go ahead and get him the bird feed, just to show him I like him. If he gets all spoiled and turns into an uppity pest again, I’ll have to remind him just how many cats there are in the neighborhood.



Paula Merritt is chief photographer of The Meridian Star. E-mail her at pmerritt@themeridianstar.com.