There’s been a biiiiirrrrrdddderrrr!

There’s a bird-feeder in our garden that was left by the previous owner. Mr. TMAOT (Just realised that the abbreviation of ‘Twin Mum Amongst Other Things’ almost looks sweary and is just one ‘O’ away from a ‘tomato’ anagram. Hmmmmm, anyway…). So, my husband, he decided to fill the feeder with bird seed. The girlies can then see all of the cutie wutie birdies from their baby cage*. How lovely.

What isn’t so lovely is my cat Denzel. I may have mentioned this before. But my cat is a dick. As you have probably already guessed, mainly due to the awesome title, he brought me the gift of a dead sparrow. If he had just asked, I would have happily listed what I would appreciate as a present, but he didn’t. So I got a dead bird.
Denzel deeply enjoys causing any type of pain and misery and is especially fond of playing with bird or mouse corpses. I suspect that, if I died in the house, he would play with (and devour) my dead body too. If he could speak I imagine he would be like the old guy in the TV Show ‘Father Ted’. ‘Feck! Drink! Food! (I’ll lick my) Arse! ‘



He has no respect that cat. My frustration is aimed at my husband. It’s HIS stupid fault. “I’ll show him!” I thought. He can deal with this when he gets home from work. I look around for something to cover the bird. The only thing I can find is an empty Heineken box. Don’t judge us – we’ve got twins, you need something to take the edge off. Once I was in Sainsbury’s and  a nearby shopper says ‘Oh look, they’re twins. Just like you are’ to her daughters. ‘Are you identical?’ I ask her little girls. ‘Yes, they are’ the Mum says. I smile and carry on putting two bottles of Prosecco in the trolley. ‘I find that wine helps too’ she said with a knowing look.

Anyway, back to beer and dead birds: The box is over the sparrow with a pair of trainers on top. Except I have underestimated catty. Within minutes he has freed the dead bird and there are feathers all over the hallway. Ugh. I now have no choice than to deal with the deceased. I find an empty Tassimo box, a dustpan and brush. The sparrow is now at peace in the bin in his makeshift coffin. RIP little fella.

All mine.


The girlies haven’t noticed (thank God!) so I carry on with getting in the shower whilst watching the babies on the monitor. As I wander back downstairs I hear a familiar sound in the hallway – the shuffling of a naughty feline. There he is with the bird again. Only we have a super special anti cat bin. (£50 from ‘’ if you’re interested). I look inside. The bird is still dead in his Tassimo coffin. The realisation hits me…it’s a different bird being taunted in the hallway. I do what any sensible and responsible parent would do – I hide from the horror with the kids in the baby cage.

*Just to be clear – it’s not really a cage. The box said ‘Play Pen’, but it is basically a baby prison.

If anyone has any ideas on how to stop the cat being such a knob, or even the best way to deal with unwanted presents, please let me know. 🙂


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