Don’t fly here, pigeon

Every day, a pigeon flies into my room and cries about how the flowers on the outskirts of town are suffering without water and how I must help them. It cries incessantly about how beautiful and wonderful these flowers are and how I absolutely must do something. Sometimes I see pigeons on the street myself, but their sight upsets me because I'm terribly tired of these visits.

Every day, I hear on the radio about the terrible and ugly flowers some person planted on the outskirts of town. They say the scent of these flowers suffocates cats and gives people headaches.

I love flowers and think they're innocent. But how can I help them, knowing they're poisonous? How can I agree to a pigeon's pleas when I have a beloved cat, whose death I want the last thing in the world?

 Every day, more and more people are getting pigeons to listen to their cries about flowers, to agree with them, and to spread awareness of the tragedy. And it pains me how boldly these people walk among those who will now have headaches from flowers for the rest of their lives, and whose eyes were so mercilessly pecked out by those same pigeons. Sometimes I envy those who don't mind listening to the pigeons that fly to them. They don't understand much and don't have a radio, but it scares me how easily their lack of understanding can be transformed into another pigeon's mouth.

Is it really bad to want the person who planted the flowers to finally move them somewhere far away, where they won't cause harm and won't suffer? The pigeon is sure it's very bad. But I just want it to stop flying to me.