The Day the Conservatory Became a Self-Service Buffet

I used to think the conservatory was for potting up plants and maybe sitting with a cup of tea on a sunny day.

Now it’s basically the back-of-house kitchen for the wildlife café.There’s a narrow little corridor from the kitchen door to the back door, and both sides are packed with tubs of seed, bags of suet pellets, jars of peanut butter, boxes of cat food, and various grades of sunflower hearts. It looks more like a pet shop stockroom than somewhere you’d invite visitors.Every morning I load up the trug, drape the tea towel over my arm (because standards must be maintained), and do my 17 trips down the garden like a very dedicated waitress.The problem is… when I go down the garden to lay out the buffet for Russell & Sheryl and the Magpie Air Force, I leave the conservatory door open.Big mistake.While I’m gone, all hell breaks loose behind my back.Cyril the Squirrel has been caught red-pawed multiple times hanging off the feeders like a furry trapeze artist.
Maurice the Mouse has been spotted having little tasting sessions.
Even some of the bolder littlies have flown in for an early preview.The other day I came back and found a trail of sunflower hearts leading suspiciously toward the hedge, and one very guilty-looking squirrel sitting on the swing licking his paws like butter wouldn’t melt.I just stood there with my empty trug and said out loud:“You absolute little gits.”Cyril didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. He just flicked his tail and launched himself into the tree like he was leaving a five-star restaurant.At this rate I’m going to need a shopping trolley just to transport the food… but knowing my luck I’d get arrested for “stealing” it even though I paid the £1 deposit.So yes — the conservatory is no longer a conservatory.
It’s now officially Wildlife Café Central Command & Logistics Hub.And I’m the long-suffering manager who keeps the doors open and the tea towel ready.