Strange Occurences of the Feathered Kind

Last night, Karen and Heidi and I stayed at Bob Sheaman's house. He was down in Colorado, so we didn't get the pleasure of his company, only that of his house. (Which was very nice, nothing wrong there!)
The strange thing happened after K&H left. I was sitting in the living room waiting for the dishwasher to finish, and I heard in that sort of non-listening way that you do when you're busy with something else, a strange kind of scrabbling and fluttering sound. The door was open (screendoor shut, no holes) and I was busy, so I ignored it. Whatever it was was probably outside anyways. Until I looked up and ... there was a bird standing on the floor looking at me. I couldn't tell what kind it was for sure. It looked rather like a skinny robin with a dark maroon breast instead of a bright orange-red one. I blinked at it, it blinked at me; I looked away to set my laptop down, and it was gone.
hm.

So now we're on a Bird Hunt. But I don't want to panic it and have it flying all over running into things and making a mess, so I am trying to be subtle about my huntage. There are no open windows, no holes in the screen door, no holes anywhere that I can find... On the first few go-rounds, I can't see it anywhere. Mental shake of head, back to living room and computer. I don't know how it got in, so maybe it got itself back out again the same way. But no, a couple minutes later, I hear it and get up and tiptoe into the other room, where it is perched on top of the typewriter.

Retreat to plan attack. Prop screen door open. Shut all other curtains and turn lights off. Sneak back into typewritering room. Bird is sitting there looking at me cheerfully. I look back. It's a standoff for a few minutes, then I take a step closer, and he flies off to sit on the back of the couch. This is better - at least he now has a straight line to the Way Out - if he will take it, and not fly down the hallway away from me. I have to come at him from the direction of the Way Out, and who knows about birds. This may be a bit too bold even for such an unpanicked fellow. But now, all is well. I get about 4 feet from him, and wave my arms encouragingly (encouraging in a sort of muted manner) and off he goes to sit on top of the screen door, and look around. Huh. Outside. How strange. Well, guess I'll see what it's like out here... and he was off. I shut the door in relief.

I still don't know where he got in. And he was astoundingly calm. You'd think he spent all his time hopping around people's houses and sitting on their typewriters.