A Necessary Boundary

I love my wildlife. I really do. But the last couple of days (especially yesterday) Felicity has tested my hospitality to its absolute limit. She’s become insatiable — coming back multiple times, sitting outside the lounge door staring at me, waiting for more. She’s turned the Wildlife Cafe into her personal all-you-can-eat buffet and I can’t keep up.So I’ve made a decision.From now on, Felicity will get two pouches of premium chicken cat food in one sitting as her main breakfast, along with a couple of bacon sizzlers. That should be enough to fill her up properly in one go. After that, no more food. The hanging bird feeders will stay topped up.To be fair, I created this problem myself by giving her a pouch in two separate sittings, rather than just one decent breakfast the first time around. Clearly she thought if she waited, she'd get another one, and then maybe even another one.So now I have to try to sort this issue out.
Felicity Update: Day Two of the new routine

I gave Felicity her breakfast, but she hung around the garden waiting for seconds.She’s still out there right now, lying peacefully by the hedge behind the shed. I love her to bits — she’s a real scallywag, but she’s lovely. 😊I feel a bit sad and a bit deflated about setting these boundaries, but I have to. I’ve been incredibly generous, but I literally can’t afford to keep feeding one fox at this level, especially when there are so many others who also would like some breakfast. Plus she needs to forage for real fox food. In my stupidity I thought if I gave her a good breakfast then a bird or mouse would live to see another day. But cat food isn't the best diet for her, she needs fresh protein. I’m hoping a firmer routine will reset things.
The Wildlife Cafe isn’t closing. It’s just changing its rules.

Felicity’s 1-Star Google Review for The Wildlife Cafe
(written while lying in the sun trap behind the shed, giving side-eye to the human peeping out the window)

“DO NOT COME HERE. Worst service in the West Midlands.
Turned up for my usual 11-course breakfast. Human gave me one pathetic pouch and two measly bacon sizzlers then hid like a criminal.
I had to do a full 5-hour sit-in protest outside the lounge window. Still no seconds.
The Magpies are rude. The Walters are idiots. The Littlies are tiny and pointless.
I am a beautiful, hardworking single mother of 3 and I expect better.
Will be telling all my fox friends. Also writing a strongly worded letter to the hedge.
☆☆☆☆
— Felicity ‘The Queen’ Fox
(VIP customer, currently available for sponsorship deals)”
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Felicity & The Cubs

I’m a bit worried about Felicity at the moment. She seems to be spending a lot of time in my garden and not much time with her cubs. Even now, in the evening, she's out there laying in the long grass (half way up the photo on the left). I've never seen her in the garden at this time of night before. I assume the cubs are old enough now (around 6–8 weeks) that she’s starting to leave them for longer periods while they learn to forage on their own.I’ll ask Tom tomorrow if he’s still seeing her and the cubs in his garden. It’s making me a bit anxious, but I’m told this is fairly normal behaviour for a vixen at this stage — they start giving the cubs more independence around now.She’s still beautiful and cheeky as ever, though. A real scallywag.

Felicity / Possibly Felix? She’s fast asleep again in her favourite sunny spot in the long grass. Earlier I saw her lift her leg to pee against the Lavatera. I’ve always assumed she’s a vixen (especially with the talk of cubs), but now I’m not so sure. Male foxes are much more likely to lift their leg to mark territory. If she’s actually a “he”, then maybe he’s the dad who’s not allowed in the den and has decided my garden makes a nice bachelor pad instead.I still haven’t seen any cubs yet, so it’s all just guesswork at the moment. Either way, whether she’s Felicity or Felix, she’s become a proper character in the garden — and I’m still very fond of her (or him!).

Felicity, My Garden Dog Felicity is absolutely gorgeous. I love her to bits. I’ve always wanted a dog, but with my mobility issues I wouldn’t be able to take one for proper long walks. So instead, I seem to have acquired a fox who basically looks after herself. She comes and goes as she pleases, has her favourite spots, expects room service in the mornings, and still manages to be completely wild. Win-win, I suppose. She’s my little garden dog now — just one who doesn’t need walks, worming tablets, or trips to the vet. She takes care of all that herself. 💖

Tom told me today there are 5 cubs in his garden and they still look like little puppies. So I guess there’s still time for them to discover my garden and turn it into full Fox Family Resort territory 🤯Whether she’s a vixen with five babies nearby or actually a young male (Felix?) who’s claimed the territory, she’s become a proper little resident here. I’m still very fond of her either way.
Fatima the Comeback Queen
Tom confirmed today that the new leaves at the base of Fatima are definitely hers! After everything she’s been through, she’s pushing out strong new growth from the bottom as well as the top. She’s going to be sooooo bushy and fabulous again soon. I’m absolutely thrilled for her. 😍🥰

The Compost Bin Den Idea

I’m thinking of getting one of those big black Geomax-style compost bins and placing it in a quiet, secluded corner of the garden. I’ll leave the hatch open, fill the bottom with a good thick layer of straw (I’ve already got loads from the strawberry plants), and turn it into a potential shelter for Felicity.

If she wants a proper roof over her head when it’s raining or cold, it’ll be there for her. And if she never uses it… well, at least I’ll have a decent compost bin!  👍

The Wildlife Cafe Has Officially Lost the Plot

Good grief, what a day.

It started at 6am with Felicity having a lovely lie-in on the path by the swing. I made the fatal mistake of taking a photo. The tiny click went through double glazing and she whipped her head round like I’d insulted her mother. Second click and she was up, in position, giving me the “breakfast now, human” look. She’s so tuned in to me it’s actually scary. I caved immediately, of course. Premium chicken and two sizzlers. She’s got me well trained.

Felicity is soooo beautiful  😍

She sits outside the lounge door, looks directly at me, and waits.

How could I not give in to her?

Meanwhile, Panther decided that while Norman was cutting his back lawn, it was the perfect time to launch a 20-minute sit-in protest at the full-length glass door. Big eyes, pathetic expression, the full works. I gave her the Caroline-trained subtle side-eye and held firm. “Nope, not today!” She eventually wandered off looking thoroughly disgusted with me. Not offended. Disgusted. The sheer cheek.

Caroline is now safely under her cloche with the flap open for ventilation while she focuses on her recovery. She looks like a tiny greenhouse hostage, but at least she’s protected from 5 days of forecast rain. I’ve also spread the grit around her (with a spoon, because I’m classy like that). She’s finally got a fighting chance to focus on her roots instead of dying dramatically in front of the window.

The Birdbaths have been absolute carnage. The Magpies have taken over the main ones like they’ve declared martial law. Balthazar has been suspiciously absent — probably sulking after his wave-machine performances were interrupted. And Walter… oh Walter.Walter has had a very full day. First the backwards tail-swish bath, then sitting motionless in another bath like an oven-ready chicken. Mystery solved when I caught him doing a massive poop and using the birdbath as a personal bidet. The Magpie had no excuse for copying him. I cleaned the birdbaths three times yesterday and I am not doing it again today.

Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, four Walters tried to sit on one hanging feeder tray at the same time. Four Walters piling onto one tiny hanging tray like absolute clowns, thinking “yeah, we can all fit on that”.Naturally, it became an overloaded seesaw, followed by a mass 4-pigeon flap-off. Later they were all sliding down the shed roof in unison like it was the Alton Towers log flume.These pigeons have zero dignity and maximum chaos energy. They’re not birds — they’re furry-brained adrenaline junkies with feathers.

It's like they were sitting on the roof, looking at each other saying: “You thinking what I’m thinking, Walter?” and then launching themselves down the slope like it’s the newest attraction.

Wheeeeeee…Splat!
The Cyrils have been knocking feeders on the ground and emptying them like a Greek taverna on a Saturday night. I caved and refilled them. Then they did it again.I’m now seriously considering putting up the redirection notice permanently. The birds have lost the plot. I’m just trying to survive with my dignity and the last remaining drops of my Bacardi & Coke fund.Send help. Or at least a bigger shed to hide in.

No Mow May turned into WildlifeFlix
The garden looks a bit of an overgrown mess to be fair, but at least it's wildlife friendly. It all started off as 'No Mow May' a few years ago. I want wildflowers in the long grass next and I've some ready for planting. There's holes down there that I don't know who dug them - badgers? foxes? who knows. Maurice has got his hole. The far end of the garden is for the wildlife, while the end nearest to the house is....also for wildlife 😂Years ago it used to be just a big lawn with manicured stripes and perfect hedges. Now it's wild and free and alive with bizzies, buzzies, peskies, scallies and littlies, thanks to 'No Mow May'.I wouldn't have it any other way. Be free, you guys.

The back story of how Bop came to be my cat:

Hazel and Norman moved in next door around 19 year ago

They then got 3 kittens: Bee, Bop and Lula

The kittens lived in their garage.

Late one night I heard a terrible, shocking noise of an animal in distress, but thought it was a fox noise.

A lady knocked on my door and said 'I think I've run your cat over'.

I said it was probably next door's cat, as my own cats were indoors.

Hazel then came round the next day to tell me that she had put the kitten back in the garage overnight and took her to the vet the next day. The vet said Bee needed to be put to sleep asap as her face was completely smashed and there was nothing he could do about it.

I bawled my soddin' eyes out thinking about this tiny kitten, having been hit by a car and her face smashed in, being put back in the garage in immense pain for the whole night with two other kittens who may have been trying to play with her.

Why a kitten was even allowed out the front by a road was a mystery to me.

Nine years later, Hazel said they were going on holiday and asked me to look after the two remaining cats and I said I would.

The first day I went round to their house to feed them and to put their food in the garage and was appalled to see slug slime all over their dried food. 

I then made it known to the two cats - Bop and Lula - that they had to come round to my house to be fed, which they duly did.

Once Hazel and Norman came back from their holiday, Bop decided to move in with me. Hazel said that was ok because Bop and Lula didn't get on anyway.

Then, last October - after Bop had been living with me for 9 years - I realised she was poorly and miserable and decided it was time for her to be euthanized. She was 18 years old. Bop didn't 'live' anywhere except on the radiator or my desk during her last days. I asked Hazel to come round so I could ask her permission to have Bop euthanized and the first thing she said was "I'm not prepared to pay any vet's bills". I hadn't even intended to ask her that, I just wanted her permission to, basically, kill her cat. Then she said "You should try the PDSA because when it's Lula's turn to be put to sleep I'll have to pay again anyway."

In which case, why have 3 cats if you can't afford their end of life care?

So I paid almost £500 to have her cat put to sleep - I am living on a pension, and Labour had just taken away our winter fuel allowance.

So, yeah, if Norman thinks he should cut my lawn because it makes his garden look tatty to leave it, then so be it. 

Fill yer boots Norman. You guys owe me.