This morning’s wildlife cafe opening will go down in legend.Suited and booted in full ghillie suit, tea towel draped over the arm, ceremonial cloche in hand, I stepped out to serve breakfast to the usual suspects.Only this time there was a new player — some collared, confident cat sitting bold as brass by the hedge.I carried on regardless: topped up the Walters’ feeding station, filled Cyril’s House with nuts, scattered peanut butter butties, seed, suet pellets and (foolishly) put out cat food.The new cat watched my every move, then casually strolled down the garden like he owned the place.When I went back inside and shut the door… he turned around and started walking straight back up, nose in the air, following the scent like a heat-seeking missile.So I went back out.And we had a face-off.Me standing on the patio in full moss-monster regalia.
Him sitting down, cool as you like, refusing to budge.I sat down too.Yes, on the wet patio.Yes, OK, my bum got soaked.Meanwhile, the Magpie Air Force had assembled in force — easily 30 of them in the trees, all licking their beaks, watching the all-you-can-eat buffet below like it was the Last Supper.One brave magpie even attempted a descent… saw me sitting there like a deranged bush, and immediately aborted mission and flew back up.After several minutes of intense staring (and a very damp bottom), the cat decided to go for it. He slunk around the garden, trying to hide behind plants, thinking I couldn’t see him.I could.When he finally made his move on the cat food, I’d had enough.I marched into the conservatory, grabbed a fat ball, and threw it at him.
It travelled approximately 15 feet… and nearly cleared the hedge into next door’s garden.The cat, to be fair, still got the message. He startled, abandoned the mission, and ran off with the biggest, cheekiest grin on his face — as if he was thinking, “Oh boy, this garden sure looks like fun. With a bit more practice the moss monster might even throw the fat ball near enough for me to catch it.”Victory was mine.The magpies, however, wasted no time. While I was dealing with the cat situation, they swooped in and polished off the cat food.
Final score:
Jill 1 – Cheeky Cat 0
Magpies 1 – Everyone Else 0My bum is now drying nicely by the radiator, thank you very much.Tomorrow is Tom day.
Today was just warm-up.
Him sitting down, cool as you like, refusing to budge.I sat down too.Yes, on the wet patio.Yes, OK, my bum got soaked.Meanwhile, the Magpie Air Force had assembled in force — easily 30 of them in the trees, all licking their beaks, watching the all-you-can-eat buffet below like it was the Last Supper.One brave magpie even attempted a descent… saw me sitting there like a deranged bush, and immediately aborted mission and flew back up.After several minutes of intense staring (and a very damp bottom), the cat decided to go for it. He slunk around the garden, trying to hide behind plants, thinking I couldn’t see him.I could.When he finally made his move on the cat food, I’d had enough.I marched into the conservatory, grabbed a fat ball, and threw it at him.
It travelled approximately 15 feet… and nearly cleared the hedge into next door’s garden.The cat, to be fair, still got the message. He startled, abandoned the mission, and ran off with the biggest, cheekiest grin on his face — as if he was thinking, “Oh boy, this garden sure looks like fun. With a bit more practice the moss monster might even throw the fat ball near enough for me to catch it.”Victory was mine.The magpies, however, wasted no time. While I was dealing with the cat situation, they swooped in and polished off the cat food.
Final score:
Jill 1 – Cheeky Cat 0
Magpies 1 – Everyone Else 0My bum is now drying nicely by the radiator, thank you very much.Tomorrow is Tom day.
Today was just warm-up.
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