Despite evidence to the contrary, I have not disappeared off the face of the planet. I have now settled in at my rental house and am living among overfilled bookcases and half-empty packing cartons. I don't expect this will go on forever, but I'm worried that it might. I could get used to the mess. Very easily. Very, very easily.
— o O o —
I was curious about the bird that has been pooping all over my car door while trying to beat the same stuff out of its reflection in the wing mirror. After staking out the car port, I discovered the culprit. It wasn't one of the usual suspects — a magpie-lark or a willy wagtail — but a white-browed scrubwren. And now the next question is how can a bird that small make such a huge mess?
— o O o —
I was woken the other night by a crashing sound in the kitchen. A large green tree frog had knocked down the curtain rail, sending it into a pile of crockery. The frog was spreadeagled on the window pane. The amphibian and I stared at each other. I'm not sure of my expression, but the frog definitely looked guilty. And as we continued to stare at each other, its grip on the window loosened and it slipped slowly down the glass. The frog is now confining its moth-hunting to the hall and bathroom until it recovers its dignity.