The other morning, I was convinced someone was knocking on the door. Dream? No. Miss Cat was sitting up alert, ears pricked. Postie? I got up, observed Miss Dog somnolent on her beanbag, checked front and back, walked round the house, etc., and realised with some irritation that it was quarter to seven, a bit early for the postman. A currently resident Palaeographer had precisely the same experience last night. I could have told her what it was, had I thought to. Perhaps as a consequence of sanding the floorboards, which makes the room much lighter, the Professor’s study has mysteriously begun to attract the jackdaws. They come and sit on the sill and rap on the glass with their powerful beaks; I presume they have designs on colonising what now appears to them to be a bright, empty space, and are asking themselves, ‘why has the air suddenly gone solid?’ I’ve now caught them at it several times, and I’m sure that they are the source of the noise. Very annoying it is too, but as with many noises of the night, if you know what it is, it is wholly possible to ignore it.

3 Responses to “Rappers”

  1. Jacky Says:

    Are they attacking their reflections, do you think? Perhaps drawing the curtains would help them. We have had some blue tits attacking the wing mirrors of our car, and quite ferociously.

  2. FJS Says:

    Miss Dog would sleep through the passage of the Dagenham Girl Pipers, unless, of course they were transported by some form of internal
    combustion engine, natural phenomena seem to pass her by. She was was able to sleep through the (occasionally) frenetic grinding of wee stoned mark.
    Nuff said.

  3. The Canadian Professor Says:

    You Think You Have Troubles Department

    Two evenings ago, a crash, heard from the living room, in the kitchen, below. A
    cabinet door had been opened & a box tumbled out. No disturbance of contents. A cursory search of the premises. This is raccoon season. It would take too long to describe the place in the CP’s garden where they aare known to hang out.

    The next morning, CP scanning the news on the ground floor. Raccoon in full flight down the passage. PUrsuit with shrieks into the garden. My guess was that the clever beast had opened a sliding screen door to gain, a it were, ingress. Locked. That afternoon, another crash. This time evidently through the screen door. Two cupboard doors opened. Raccoon skulking, chased out. Collision with Desmond the Respite Care CAt, doubled in size with fright. RCC hauled in, full door shut. One large R plus 6 juniors look in at the door, seeking, yes…..Reflect on the virtues of boiling oil. Go off to get a large supply of Imodium for ailing guest. Understand the Middle East better whilst thinking on the brick thrown at one of the invaders of my territory. (I missed, of course). Today all is quiet on the northern front. No agency can turn up before Thursday next to make us raccoon proof. Desmond, the RCC, is now not allowed in the garden, lest the R take revenge. If you will direct the jackdaws to us, we will wend the raccoons to you.

Leave a Reply