It starts around 6:30 a.m—“incessant, almost guttural cooing,” according to Michael Kelly, a 33-year-old opera singer who lives on a usually quiet stretch of 100th Street on the Upper West Side. He’s battling jet lag after a trip to Europe, but every morning for the last couple of weeks, Kelly is wrenched from sleep not by a blaring car alarm or construction noise on the street below, but jackhammering of a different kind: pigeons fucking.