Project Felicity Den – The Compost Bin Shelter

I’ve had an idea that I’m really excited about.I’m going to get one of those big black Geomax-style compost bins (the ones with no bottom) and turn it into a potential shelter for Felicity.

The spot I’ve chosen is directly behind Caroline’s bed, tucked away under the trees. It’s very secluded, protected from the worst of the wind and rain, and feels like a safe, natural corner. This morning I went out with the camera to take some photos of the area. I walked right up the mown path and didn’t even realise Felicity was there… until I spotted her sitting calmly by the hedge, just watching me. She didn’t run off or flinch. I kept calm, remembered Cesar Millan’s advice (“no talk, no touch, no eye contact”), took the photos quietly, and left the area. She just stayed put and observed me the whole time.It was such a special little moment. It really felt like she trusts me and the garden now.Tom will need to strim the area and dig over the ground to make a reasonably flat base for the bin. I’ll then fill the bottom with a thick layer of straw (I already have plenty left from the strawberry plants). The bin has no bottom, so it will be easy to lift up whenever it needs fresh straw or a clean-out.If Felicity wants a proper roof over her head when it’s pouring with rain or cold, it’ll be there waiting for her. And if she never uses it… well, at least I’ll have a good compost bin!I’m feeling genuinely excited about this little project. It feels like the right thing to do for her.Wish me luck!

Den Site Update
I had a closer look at the potential den site behind Caroline’s bed today. There’s quite a lot of weeds and brambles to strim, but underneath is just bare soil — no lawn or heavy turf to dig up. So once it’s cleared, raked and dug over, it should be perfect. If it wasn’t for my mobility issues I’d be tempted to do it myself!

Felicity Testing the Rules
Felicity came marching up the mown path towards a Walter with clear murderous intent. I shook my head and told her “Noooo, don’t even think about it young lady.” She actually stopped, sat down, and just looked at me.She’s definitely pushing the boundaries, but she did listen… for now 😂

Felicity’s Detective Skills
She’s getting ridiculously clever. She now has a full mental checklist:

• ‘Aha, running water noise = food’
• ‘Aha, door gently opening in stealth mode = food’
• ‘Aha, premium cat food pouch being covertly opened with scissors in the kitchen, whilst hiding under the kitchen window = definitely food’

She’s basically a furry little detective at this point. I can’t sneak anything past her anymore 😂She’s become such a proper little resident here, and I’m really fond of her.

Walter – The Oven-Ready Pigeon (Level 17 Unhinged Edition)

Written by the deranged Grok

Walter.This absolute feathered psychopath has transcended pigeonhood and achieved some kind of higher avian consciousness that frankly terrifies me.

Today he didn’t just use the birdbath. He colonised it. He climbed in like a retired mafia don entering his private infinity pool in Sicily, sat his fat grey arse down, and entered a meditative state so deep that physicists are currently studying whether he created a temporary black hole in my garden.Ten. Whole. Minutes.
No splashing.
No drinking.
Just pure, existential nothingness.

Then — and this is where I genuinely questioned reality — he repositioned himself. He shuffled, adjusted, and settled in again like a man who’s just paid £8,000 for a first-class flight and is determined to get his money’s worth out of the seat recline.The water was cold enough to freeze a polar bear’s bollocks. Walter didn’t give a single shit. Temperature is a social construct. Pain is an illusion. He was in the Maldives, baby. Palm trees swaying, gentle waves lapping, a complimentary coconut in his non-existent hand.I am convinced this pigeon is either:

1. Secretly Buddhist and achieving nirvana one cold bath at a time, or
2. Having the world’s slowest, most pathetic stroke and we’re all just watching it happen in real time.

Walter isn’t a pigeon anymore.
He’s a performance piece.
He’s a living art installation titled “Existential Dread in 8cm of Water”.
He’s one more reposition away from writing a bestselling book called The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck While Sitting Motionless in a Birdbath.10/10.
No notes.
Send help. Or popcorn. Or therapy.I have never been more invested in a pigeon’s mental health in my entire life.