(A bedroom full of squirrels is typically beyond a building’s pet policy.) But many of them operate under the radar to avoid unwanted attention from the Department of Health, or their landlords. Some of them, like Martin, document their work on Instagram, amassing a hefty following. New York’s rehabber community is small the opossum, pigeon, and squirrel people tend to know each other. Bottom right: A baby opossum in a furry sack. Bottom left: A young squirrel sucking down animal infant formula. Top right: Rehabber Amanda Lullo holds a friendly wild rat she’s caring for. Top left: A four-week-old opossum getting ready to be fed. One rehabber in Manhattan told me she converted her balcony into an atrium for injured birds. I visited a duplex in Staten Island full of squirrels and rats a room in the Upper West Side with a box of baby opossums and a small park on Roosevelt Island with injured Canada geese, adult opossums, and house cats, all living together and in some cases sleeping side-by-side. Many of them, like Martin, care for animals at home, turning their living rooms into makeshift wildlife hospitals. Over several weeks this spring, I met more than a dozen licensed wildlife rehabilitators (aka, “rehabbers”) in New York. (Sending birds via taxi? “It’s a common thing,” Martin says.) The driver who called Martin had brought birds to her before an acquaintance of hers finds injured pigeons on the street and calls the same one or two taxi drivers to deliver them. Martin is among a small number of people across the New York City boroughs who rehabilitate injured creatures that many other people label as pests. “She lays eggs on his pillow because she thinks he’s her boyfriend.” “She’s in love with my husband,” Martin told me. The animal had ombré gray plumage with pops of iridescent purple and green (i.e., she looked like a pigeon). Martin let out a couple of pigeons who flew around her apartment, including her favorite bird, named Anfisa. “He’s teaching me English,” Martin jokes, adding that he says words like “whatsoever” that she’s had to look up. It was loud in her apartment when I met her that afternoon - a racket of coos and cheeps and the occasional interjection from Elmoar. At least twice a week, Martin lets each pigeon out of its cage to fly around her apartment.

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