We are at War. With our neighbours cats.
When we moved into our house it had a rather large garden and, to be honest, I ain't big on gardening. I can barely tell a plant from a weed. So there was never going to be neat little rows of bedding plants or luscious bushes with latin names.
What we did want though was a garden where all wildlife would be welcome. So while we kept the grass cut and the garden relatively weed free, we did allow a few patches of nettles for the butterflies and a rotting log pile for anything that fancied taking up residence. And for our effort (or lack of effort, I should say) we were truly blessed. We saw hedgehogs scuttling by in the evening. Squirrels pinching nuts from the nut feeder, the odd heron landing near our pond. A pond in which newts and frogs thrived. But most all we attracted birds. We even got a family of Hawfinch, which here in Britain are on the decline. We loved doing the RSPB big bird watch thing because we could proudly list all the birds we had atttracted to our garden.
One day I counted 17 yellowhammers sitting in our tree. The tree looked like it was in flower. Hours and hours we spent watching the wild birds. We did everything we could to help them survive the hard winters and they rewarded us by bringing their chicks to feed at our bird table.
And then...
Our neighbours acquired SIX cats between them.
Two of the cats were quite clearly natural born killers.
This is one of them. She's called Sharpay. We call her Shar-killer.
These two cats flung themselves at our bird table, snatching birds in front of our very eyes. They were so fast and so agile.
'This is war,' my husband said, rolling chicken wire around the bottom of the bird table. 'Trying getting up that!' he added, smugly.
'No problem,' came the retort ten minutes later when we saw Sharpay flying through the air like Jet-Li. She knocked a bird off the table, grabbed it in her mouth and took off down the garden.
'I don't believe it!' Husband said, horrified. 'Did you see that?'
Plastic cat proof spiky things were nailed onto the bird table.
'Put your paws on that!' husband said. 'You won't be in such a hurry to jump up next time will you?'
'What was that you said?' asked the other killer, a black and white cat (don't know its name), as it snatched a chaffinch and belted across our deck.
More rolls of chicken wire were rolled around the garden (this is all based on the googled fact that cats don't like chicken wire, I add)
'Trying getting in now, you little blighters.'
A few minutes later Sharpay strolled across our lawn as if to say 'you have got to be joking.'
'I'm not giving up,' husband said with gusty determination.
More spiky things were nailed to the tops of all fences.
Did it stop them getting in? No!
We have two little dogs. One of whom knows the word 'cat' very well and takes off at great speed down the garden if we say it out loud. He even did two laps round the pond with the black & white cat before it scurried up a tree.
Did he scare the cats off?
No. The cats take great delight in teasing him from a safe distance.
'I'll buy some lemon balm and plant it near the bird table,' I suggested. 'Apparently birds can't stand the stuff.'
'Don't bother,' my mum-in-law said dryly. 'Lady at church planted it all over her garden. The cats sleep on it.'
'There's nothing for it,' I said. 'We'll just have to stop feeding the birds. Putting food out is like luring them onto a sacrificial alter.'
'I'm not letting those cats win,' Husband said emphatically. 'We'll all have to take turns.'
'For what?'
'Sentry duty.'
'You do mornings. I'll do tea-time,' he instructed.
So now if we put out any bird food, one of us has to stand guard.
And while I've never pined for the type of garden that would have featured in Homes & Gardens, I also didn't want one that resembled a barricaded compound.
The only ones that can't move around the garden are us! Trying to reach the washing line is like partaking in an army assault course.
And worse, we have noticed lately that the two killers have started working together - like a couple of highly trained assassins.
Fortunately, the two youngest cats haven't quite got the hang of killing yet - thank goodness. They are still at the Shrek's Puss in Boots stage. If you catch them in the garden they just look at you all adorable.
I love cats. I just don't love them when they kill. There is one next door called Ryan and he is a lovely. He can't be bothered to chase after birds. He's more interested in exploring our house. I found him sitting in our bath one night and my son says there has been conspicuous cat hairs on a warm patch on his bed and the sighting of a fluffy tail leaving through the bedroom window.
But as for the other two. We despair.
Apparently in order to thwart a cat you have to think like one. So that's the next plan. So for now.
Meow!
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