Nesting Instinct

I think the neighborhood birds have started their own Facebook page.  How else would they coordinate all the poop attacks on my house?  Apparently, they're bored with the patio chairs.  Now they've upped their game.  They're nesting in the light fixture over the front door and crapping on the welcome mat.  Every day brings a new delivery.  Every day I say to hubby, "Do something."  Every day, he puts a new piece of cardboard directly underneath the light to catch the splats.  "How long is all this front door crapping going to go on?" I ask.  "Only a few more months," he says, as if he's wired into some top secret bird timeline.  But I've just about had it, people.  Those birds either need to start paying rent or I will personally evict them from the light fixture.  I will get up there on a ladder and... oh, wait... look at the birdies.  Tweet, tweet, tweet.  They're so cute in their little nest.  And look at that, they're reading my favorite book, "Are You My Mother?"  Oh, I hope their mommy comes back soon, or I may have to adopt them.  Let's face it.  Poop happens.