I have a long list beside me of the things I have to finish in the next 2-7 days: editing work, typesetting, cartooning, finances, and binding. But all I can do when I'm at my computer is look out the window, which is probably why I work better at night when I am discouraged from looking by the sight of myself looking back.
Today when I look out I can see the large banksia tree with varying stages of yellow banksia: lush, fluffy new flowers ranging to empty-socketed banksia men waiting for eyes. In amongst the branches I can see my resident wattle-eater bobbing around, red jowls flapping, eating the new pollen, giving a loud jolly call every now and again. And just nearby, whiskers a-twitch, balancing on the smallest branch that will bear his weight, is Mr Pooter. The wattle-eater is staying just out of reach, crowing mischievously, while the cat whips his tail in frustration. This makes me very happy. I had a little silver-eye that used to sit in the camelia bush closer by, but he's gone now. I'm glad one bird is brave -- or stupid -- enough to stick around. He's a very territorial bird; I figure he's not letting any damn cat come between him and his food. If it's the same one, he grew up with my much older cat, and has had a year's respite from paws and claws. I hope he's agile enough to avoid the much younger cats we have now. I really hope so. I like a touch of birdlife in the garden. I hope two bells to each cat is enough.