For the last few mornings, we haven't needed our alarm clock.
A pair of birds--I'm going to go out on a limb here, risking retroactive withdrawal of my Bird Identification merit badge, and say that it's a male and a female blue jay--have been perching on the fire escape outside our bedroom window and serenading us just after daybreak.
It is a minor annoyance, but all in all not such an unpleasant way to wake up.
However, it drives Mister Gato clinically insane:
No still photograph can do justice to this display, as you are missing the twitching tail, the muscles rippling up and down his back, his overall level of quivering indignation, and the anxious vocalizations that he makes as he watches the birds shamelessly hop around and sing, mere inches from his nose.
(And, by the way, non-New Yorkers -- yes, it's perfectly acceptable, even expected, to have such an advanced level of galloping dry rot in your window frame. It adds character.)