I’ve just been reading about Exeter University’s Cat Project. Sponsored by the independent charity Songbird Survival it’s aimed at identifying effective and cat-friendly ways to reduce the amount of wildlife killed by cats. Apparently, it involves bells on collars, a meat rich grain free diet and pussy puzzles and playtime! I wish this project had been around when I had my two. Eddie was a hunter and a killer. So was his brother Tigger come to think of it. They loved to roam the countryside at night and sadly, I have to admit, bring little offerings home to mum or at least so that mum could see them enjoying a meal. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve released some poor terrified bundle of fluff from their jaws, tucked it under my jumper to calm its thudding heart, run off and stuffed it back down the nearest rabbit hole hotly pursued by my boys. We even had to take down the pergola which ran the length of the house because one night Tigger, having scooted up it, found the open window to my bedroom and in the wee small hours of the morning jumped in with a fully grown extremely active rabbit in his mouth which he then chased around the bed until I managed to catch and release it!  On another occasion, when Eddie and I were landing a virtual plane on one of those computer games, Eddie on my lap dipping to the left and the right until I achieved touchdown, Tigger brought in a live weasel. Suddenly there was this dreadful screaming followed by an even more dreadful smell as Tigger deposited the poor creature, unhurt, once again in my bedroom. Chaos ensued as Eddie, keen to get in on the act, joined his brother playing ring a roses round the bed. It resulted in my having to call on a friend with a very large leather glove to reach under a chest of drawers, grab one very indignant and smelly weasel round the neck, and deposit it in the hedge whilst I held back the gruesome twosome driven wild by bloodlust!! Their pièce de résistance, working as a double act, also took place in the house. I came home one day to be greeted by a vile smell and assumed the septic tank was playing up. But no it seemed to be emanating from the lounge. The site that greeted me was quite extraordinary. Tigger was lying on his back on the sofa, one paw dangling over the side like Caligula, whilst Eddie assumed a similar position on the rug. Between them lay the carcass of a pheasant, wings akimbo, stripped to the bone, a pile of entrails steaming nicely on my dark blue carpet! They must have brought it in via the cat flap, working in tandem, one pushing the other pulling. I’m pretty sure on this occasion the poor creature was road kill as I can’t imagine they’d have got near a full size flapping squawking pheasant.

As I say they are sadly missed, by me that is, but clearly not by the wildlife. On the plus side, even though thankfully they never caught many birds, I have more of our feathered friends happy to set up summer residence in my wisteria. But on the other hand I have an assortment of voles and mice tunnelling under my borders and rabbits bold as brass munching my bedding plants.

My boys would be spinning in their graves if they could see the Beatrix Potter cartoon my little plot of land has become.

Read all about it in the Western Morning News