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There's not much happening in my garden this week. I think we're scaring everything away. And I can't just blame the cats stalking their quarry; Saturday's bouncy castle and baker's dozen of squawking three- and four-year-olds hasn't added much

slugs.The farm rodent operatives have also been very busy since the arrival of the warmer weather. There are three cats on the farm, Borage, Basil and his sister Myrtle. Basil (pictured) is a buffoon, but when he eventually does catch something he

It was getting dark, the cat was skulking after something in the shadows around the hutch and the guinea pig was squealing its head off. Something sinister on the patio? No, just another stag beetle.I often say how privileged I feel to have

The only wildlife I've seen this week has been the rather dead-life brought in by the cats - three and a half mice and a rat not much smaller than our guinea pig. I'm more or less calm that we have mice in the compost bins, but I'm uneasy about

on the grass seed and that I can continue to persuade our cat that the area is not a huge purpose-built litter tray.

. This is in preparation for a new series that I am writing for the magazine which is planned to be published next spring. So that everything did not blow away we set up in one of our multi-spans. Of course one of my cats, in this case Basil, had to get in on the action

sink is the flowering currant with its limply hanging pink flowers. Not only is it extremely boring but the slightest contact with the leaves releases an unmistakable smell of cat pee. (I could just about accept Ribes sanguineum King Edward VII if I

Scott's tree planting habits).- The Merry Hall Trilogy. I adore these books: beautifully written, light and fluffy sagas about a new garden taken on in the 1950s by novelist Beverley Nichols. He writes very amusingly about people, places, plants and cats

during the one-off survey earlier in the year. House sparrows, blackbirds and starlings regularly hide in it and the foliage and flowers are dense enough to hide them from the prying cats. There are still two more weeks to run, but I've already had double

the garden, but our resident south London foxes liked to play with them and many have been damaged or gone missing. Those that remain are nailed to the shed and the flagpole. The sheep jawbone eventually also fell apart because of their meddling, but the cat