A Gust of Feathers

I shoved past the breezy screen door onto the balcony, sick of the dim hallway and determined to find a fat scrap of dried jerky. Up on the concrete parapet, though, there wasn't a crumb of meat—just a dried flowerpot and a shiny, abandoned blue plastic bottle lying on its side. Right as I waddled over, a gray pigeon swooped down and landed right next to it, flapping its huge gray wings with a terrifying thrum. The gust nearly knocked me onto my rubber tail! I puffed out my chest, stomped both feet, and let out my meanest, squeakiest roar. The bird blinked its orange eye, startled by my guts, and took off in a wild flurry of loose feathers. The whole balcony ledge is mine now, fuckers.