Since we gave refuge to Cheeky the cockatiel I’ve discovered some less pleasant aspects of my character. Before I go into detail, please understand that I love all creatures great and small (except for cockroaches) and I wouldn’t deliberately harm any of them unless forced into a situation that required it. At least, that’s what I used to think.

Cheeky was homeless and we had an empty cage. (Jenkins the Eastern Rosella went to his heavenly reward three years ago.) Cheeky moved into Jenkins’ empty house and once more we awoke to early morning bird song (or, in Cheeky’s case: screeching). Ah bliss.He/she’s a dear little lad/lass (I have no idea how to determine the sex of a cockatiel) and he loves our company so Cheeky is a welcome addition to the family. For a while he lived inside the house, as did Jenkins before him. But then…

One day I had a brain spasm. I had swept up one too many piles of the seed casings that Cheeky threw around the kitchen with gay abandon. I had washed up one too many bird-poo splatters. That’s it! I cried. He’s going outside. I felt mean but consoled myself with the thought that birds were designed to live outside and, besides, the cage is right next to a glass door so he can still see and hear us.

But then the wild birds discovered they could slip in through the bars of his cage. Suddenly I’m feeding hordes of hungry sparrows, starlings, honey eaters and even the occasional pigeon. Now look, I’ve got three water containers in the garden for the wild birds and I’ve been known to leave them some seed and bread crusts, so I’m happy to help. But, the greedy beggars raid poor Cheeky’s cage, freaking him out (the screeching!!!) and eating up copious amounts of seed so that I’m going through mega-boxes every week. And now the mice have moved in. They established a base in the garden but then they realised: The woman comes out of that giant cage behind the bird’s place. She brings the food. We’re going in!

I have always prided myself on my charitable nature. I’ve always said we should help the poor, the homeless and the refugees. I think the way we treat asylum seekers is a disgrace. But, I’ve always said such things from the safety and comfort of my quiet home. Now I’m beginning to think that if this is how I feel about some birds and mice, invading my space and placing demands on my limited budget, how would I feel if the refugees and the homeless wanted to move in with me? Would I be as charitable, as compassionate then? I’ve got some soul-searching to do.

Meanwhile I’ve discovered that when push comes to shove, I can wield the dangerous end of a broom, set traps laden with peanut butter, and slaughter the innocent like any other killer. I have dark, dark corners in my soul.