I have had this unlucky attraction to hummingbird feeders over the past couple years of trying to salvage my yard, and I think I had better throw in the towel before things get worse. Literally.
Cheri Block, over at her beguiling photorama of a whole tribe of the creatures, insists that if I build it they will come and all I have to do is be patient. In the meantime my patience is merely inviting a crop of wasps. I have a dab stunt where I drop my towel on the lawn racing in from the gym, right in front of the feeder mobile which always has a cloud of them hovering, and twice now I have run back out to get it and brought in a hitchhiker. I don’t think the butterflies like these ugly glossy little pee-colored blowdarts either. I took in the sugar water a few days ago and cabbage-whites have returned to the nearby bushes in abundance.
I think I’m just not cut out for birds. I love cats, and they can sense it. Hovering in my aura are thoughts from the linked auras of my cats, best expressed in words like “canape” and “appetizer.” I may be a vegetarian but my familiars are obligate carnivores, with damn picky, in fact downright Roman palates.
I should go check my bat house. One thing at a time.