The Day I Realised My Garden Is Now a Full-Time Wildlife Resort

I used to think I had a garden.

Now I realise I run a full-time, open-all-hours wildlife resort with very demanding guests and zero regard for my sanity.The conservatory has been completely taken over. It’s no longer a place to sit and enjoy the sun. It’s now a high-security logistics hub packed with seed, suet, cat food, and peanut butter. There’s a narrow corridor down the middle so I can still squeeze through with my trug.Every morning I do the same routine:Load the trug → drape the tea towel over my arm (standards must be maintained) → march down the garden path I have personally worn into the lawn with my 17 daily trips → bow to the birds like a deranged maître d’.While I’m laying out the buffet for Russell, Sheryl and the Magpie Air Force, all sorts of shady activity happens behind my back in the conservatory.Cyril has been caught multiple times raiding the stock.Maurice the Mouse has been spotted having private tasting sessions.And then there are Roland and Youdirty — the dynamic rat duo who treat the place like their personal all-you-can-eat buffet.The other day I came back and found Roland sitting on one of the preparation tables like he owned it, while Youdirty was on the floor doing quality control.I stood there with my empty trug and said:“You absolute little gits. This is supposed to be my conservatory.”Roland didn’t even flinch. He just flicked his tail and carried on eating like I was the rude one for interrupting his meal.At this point I should probably install CCTV.Not to catch criminals.To catch exactly which little sod is helping themselves the moment my back is turned.The garden was supposed to be a peaceful retirement project.Instead, it has become a 24/7 wildlife resort with terrible staff reviews and even worse tipping.And I’m the long-suffering manager, armed only with a trug, a tea towel, and a slowly diminishing will to live.