Rebel Ships in My Sector

Our house sits exactly at the point where 747 jets drop out of hyperspace as they prepare to touch down at PDX; the exact point where space, time, sound and light reconverge in a near-overwhelming demonstration of eardrum-rupturing GE jet engine horsepower.

Said one Han Solo, "Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy! Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star, or bounce too close to a supernova and that'd end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?"

This little yellow bird evidently didn't get the right coordinates out of his navi-computer. He's been slamming himself over and over again into our living room window for about three weeks during all daylight hours, creating a noise, as it happens, that is much more annoying than the jets overhead.

It's not like our house suddenly sprang up in the middle of this guy's flight path. We've been here for several years without incident. Until now. If he keeps this up, R2D2 says his chances of survival are 725 to 1, but R2 has been known to make mistakes; from time to time.