text: As spring pushed winter out of the way, sparrows, wrens, finches, and other migratory birds returned to their summer quarters. In cities all over North America, men, women, and children had to cope with huge flocks. Nora Saunders of Boise, Idaho, loved the melodious call of the swarms of finches. But soon, the cacophonous chatter of sparrows in the thousands drowned out the finches.
  
  It wasn't long before birds became a nuisance—and then a menace. Sparrows, starlings, and finches nested everywhere, as did other species. Using a broom, Sam Landesman removed the twenty or so nests from under the eaves of his home in Newark. A few days later, they had been rebuilt. He counted at least ten different types of avians, several of which he didn't recognize.
  
  Of course, trees were another favorite nesting venue. Beth and Lonnie Rodman could only manage five hours of sleep a night as the feathered creatures fought into the late hours over prime nesting sites. The noise was intolerable to the Wisconsin couple. They tried earplugs, white noise generators, pillows—nothing helped.
  
  In Chattanooga, Ed Mason, a man who had always had an affinity for wild birds, was awakened in the middle of the night by a noise in his attic. Carrying a flashlight, he climbed up, opened the hatch, and beamed the light in. Suddenly, there was a flurry of wings and feathers and screeching. Ed quickly closed the wood panel. What the hell is going on? He brushed feathers and dust from his pajamas and hair. Reminds me of that old Hitchcock movie, The Birds. He could still hear the fluttering and screeching noises from the attic. Jeez, I hope those damn birds don't start attacking people like in the movie. The next day, he phoned a pest-control company. He was told that, owing to huge demand, he'd have to wait a week before they could send someone out. Ed moved to a hotel in town for the duration. When the exterminator finally came, he said that all over town, wherever attic vent openings weren't properly screened, birds were getting in and building nests.
  
  Rob Lichtman, violinist with the Santa Rosa Chamber Ensemble, was now in his seventh year of AIDS. The newest antiviral cocktail had proved to be a miracle drug for patients infected with HIV. While his partner, Zane, folded laundry in the dining room of their home in the Northern California town, Rob practiced his bowing for an upcoming performance of Beethoven's third string quartet. All at once he gave out a guttural sound, fell to the floor, and began writhing uncontrollably.
  
  "Robby! Robby!" cried Zane. He knelt and cupped Rob's head in his hands. He grabbed a towel from the table and forced it between Rob's teeth; he then dialed 911. When the EMTs arrived, they checked for vitals and transported Rob and Zane to the hospital. Later, the attending physician told the frightened Zane that he'd been encountering more and more cases of relatively rare bird-transmitted diseases such as psittacosis and cryptococcosis.
  
  "Has Mr. Lichtman been diagnosed with AIDS, or is he under radiation treatment for cancer?" asked the doctor.
  
  "Why, yes," replied Zane. "Robby has AIDS. But it's under control with vironixal."
  
  The doctor nodded. "I'm pretty certain Rob has a case of cryptococcosis. We'll know for sure after the lab work. It's a fungal disease that we find mostly in patients whose immune systems have been compromised. The fungus, actually a yeast, attacks the brain."
  
  "Oh my gosh!" Zane cried.
  
  The physician put his hands on Zane's shoulders. "With treatment, Rob will probably come out of this just fine." He explained, "This isn't an isolated case. The fungus is found in bird droppings, and, as you know, this is a big problem everywhere. We're seeing epidemics of avian-transmitted diseases in major cities like Milwaukee, Providence, Portland, Knoxville and many others."