Avian Superhero?

Maybe his secret identity is Flash or Presto or The Vapor. Perhaps time elongates when I blink, preventing me from witnessing his quick passage from A to B. Blink, and he's adhered to the front of your shirt, your shoulder, around the edge of a closing door. He's almost inside the fridge, he's on his cage you're cleaning, he's attacking the rag you're using to clean the poop off the linoleum. Pfffffshtt!

The lime green into amber of his feathers hint at an otherworldly origin. Nothing around here looks remotely like him. Maybe South America is another planet, I don't know. The map on my wall says it exists.

The only thing this superhero is afraid of is planes flying over the house. Large, loud bird silhouettes.

Right now the Shapeshifter is eating a bit of apple. Quick calories for some imminent mission?

He calls out to the high-pitched screech-pitch in the Beck song "Devil's Haircut." Maybe it's a secret code.

Now's he's chortling out some Morse chirping and pausing. Hmm-- Then tap tap tap-tap with his beak.