Call me Hitchcock

So I am sick.

Not like with the deathly typhoid induced leprosy I had earlier in the year.

Just enough to feel like yuck and have zero energy.

But that’s not where our story goes today.

No.

There’s trouble brewing at Chez Lori.

Trouble of the avian kind.

Last year about this time, in a fit of Martha-y-ness I decided that we needed more birds.

Given our feline velociraptors obviously we cannot have birds IN the house. At least, not for more than eleven minutes.

We put up several outdoor  bird feeders.

Tempting nature to our very door.

As it turns out, very little tempting needs to happen. Without even trying we’ve got pirate raccoons, density violating skunks, rose-eating deer, patio-ruining gophers and salamanders.

To date, the salamanders have done nothing destructive to our property, but we figure it’s only a matter of time before they learn how to operate heavy machinery or mutate into giant killer land-squids.

But I digress.

(Shut up.)

So we have five…COUNT THEM, FIVE!…types of birdfeeders.

Cylinder seed, tray seed, cylinder thistle, hummingbird and suet.

So we’ve taken the local population of winged, taloned, beaked wildlife and gotten them addicted to various and sundry bird-crack in our yard.

And at this very moment, the number of birdfeeders that have seed in them is…

Zero.

Ignoring for the moment the negative Martha Points associated with starving the local bird population, I think it is possible that we have a looming security situation here.

I’ve been carefully watching Backyard Neighbor’s feeders because when hers get low too, I think a Feathered Apocalypse plan needs to be parlayed into action.

Because I fully believe that at that time, a swarm of several thousand chickadees, titmice, sparrows, towhees, finches, blue jays and hummingbirds are going to fly into an aerial attack formation and make off with my car.

Probably while I am inside.

If I go missing sometime in the next week or two, check the treetops.