Big Brother Has Feathers, Fur and Zero Shame

Oh my god, I'm living in a wildlife surveillance state. 😂😂
They all know where I am. Every single one of them.This garden isn’t just chaotic anymore — it’s properly Orwellian.

• Cyril has upgraded to bedroom window service. Sits on the apex staring at me like a tiny mafia enforcer while I’m trying to get dressed. “Oi, got any nuts?”
• Felicity has mastered the art of the silent stakeout. She appears at the lounge door or kitchen window and just… stares. No movement. Pure judgement.
• The Littlies are running ground and air patrols. They congregate outside the back door like tiny feathered protesters, and some of them have taken to flying straight at the window like they’re trying to break in for a better view.
• Walter once flew into the actual lounge, had a quick panic attack, and noped straight back out.
• And then they all have the sheer audacity to walk up to the trail cam and inspect it like it’s the fucking paparazzi.

I can’t even go for a shower without feeling watched. I can’t sit in my own lounge without a ginger fox staring at me through the glass like I owe her money. I can’t open the back door without being greeted by a gang of Littlies who clearly think my house is public property.At this point I’m not the gardener.
I’m the main character in their reality show.Most people just have gnomes. I've got a full criminal underworld with starring roles.And the worst part? I keep feeding them. Like a true hostage who’s started to identify with her captors.Current Cafe Score:

• Wildlife Surveillance Network: 1 (total coverage achieved)
• My privacy: 0 (completely obliterated)
• Me: slowly developing a twitch and talking to squirrels

They don’t just live here.
They own me.