Those damned cats!
A while ago, someone reported me to the RSPCA for neglecting my cats. (I may even have found the person who did it because, one night (before the Lockdown), a woman hammered on the door and said, "That cat is crying with cold and hunger!" to which I replied, "It's not my cat!" And, when I mentioned that someone had reported me to the RSPCA for neglect even though it's not my cat, she may have looked a bit sheepish... or that might just have been my imagination).
Anyway, that isn't the point of this story.
The point of this story is that, in addition to not having a cat, I have never had any birds in my back 'garden'.
When I first moved into the house, I bought a bird feeding station, and mithered* my brother until he gave in and drilled a big hole through the paving stones so we could install it, but no birds ever came, and the feeding station gradually became somewhere to hang decorations.
*A good northern dialect word, meaning to make a fuss, to moan, to bother someone.
I don't know why it's all so yellowy...
At night, with fairy lights!
This morning, though, I noticed a suspicious number of feathers near the plastic guinea pigs.
And then I found the remains of a blackbird behind the Christmas tree.
Most of the bird's been eaten, so it wasn't killed for sport, but I can't help being pissed off that a cat can somehow get a bird into my garden when I can't even lure one in with food!
Plus, the other day, when I was sitting working (with the back door propped open to let in some air), I heard a noise that sounded exactly like a cat sharpening its claws on the carpet...
I chased the little bugger back outside, where it stood its ground, looking daggers at me.
Here's a very dark picture of its pal, sporting a similar expression after I shooed it away from the dustbin:
They're bloody terrors!
Anyway, that isn't the point of this story.
The point of this story is that, in addition to not having a cat, I have never had any birds in my back 'garden'.
When I first moved into the house, I bought a bird feeding station, and mithered* my brother until he gave in and drilled a big hole through the paving stones so we could install it, but no birds ever came, and the feeding station gradually became somewhere to hang decorations.
*A good northern dialect word, meaning to make a fuss, to moan, to bother someone.
I don't know why it's all so yellowy...
At night, with fairy lights!
This morning, though, I noticed a suspicious number of feathers near the plastic guinea pigs.
And then I found the remains of a blackbird behind the Christmas tree.
Most of the bird's been eaten, so it wasn't killed for sport, but I can't help being pissed off that a cat can somehow get a bird into my garden when I can't even lure one in with food!
Plus, the other day, when I was sitting working (with the back door propped open to let in some air), I heard a noise that sounded exactly like a cat sharpening its claws on the carpet...
I chased the little bugger back outside, where it stood its ground, looking daggers at me.
Here's a very dark picture of its pal, sporting a similar expression after I shooed it away from the dustbin:
They're bloody terrors!