Anyway, most of the time I love them. Apart from those times that Puddle brings in flying things, then she and I have words. Usually I try and rescue whatever flying thing she has, and she'll take it in her mouth and run away, and her mouth sounds like a fan from the sound of wings. When she is like this, she reminds me of a naughty child, although naughty children don't tend to eat moths. She favours moths, having been stung by a particularly indignant wasp. My next door neighbour hardly helps as she does a moth count every evening with a huge light and a trap: like feeding time in the zoo for Puddle.
I know that I didn't bring Puddle into the world and she would be chasing moths somewhere else (incidentally, don't be a poohead and refuse to neuter your felines so they can run around and get pregnant at the age of one and add to the cat population)... but still it hurts that she is killing my moths in my garden.
A few months ago, I came into the kitchen to an almighty racket. Puddle was being stared down by the most beautiful flying thing I had ever seen: shimmering golden wings like a damsel fly spread out behind it, and the angriest glare on its face. I have heard that damsel fairies can communicate with animals as well as humans, and I think this one was telling Puddle where to go.
Now I know we have a small colony of damsel fairies in the oak tree at the bottom of the garden. They are very difficult to spot, but last winter I happened to see one gathering the acorns. They like the ones which are misshapen from parasitic wasps as they make the best stew - see link for a photo. This year I seem to have seen these misshapen acorns on every oak tree I've walked past, which isn't a good sign for the oak tree, but probably good for the damsel fairies. Apparently wasps lay their eggs on the acorn and the tree tries to defend itself by growing a protective shield around the eggs, thus protecting the wasp eggs through to when they hatch.
After a few plaintive mews, Puddle wandered away, leaving me with the angry damsel fairy on the kitchen floor. It was very shaken, so I provided it with a small bowl of sugar water (I know that works for bees, so I thought maybe it would work for damsel fairies!) This one looked unharmed by Puddle, but was so shaken that it couldn't fly for a couple of hours. I moved it up high so that the cats couldn't get it, and gave it a blanket to rest on and a range of food (sunflower seeds, honey, bread crumbs, pumpkin seeds...) And I drew it, with its nodded permission of course (it never said anything to me), twenty sketches or so while it sat and recovered.
After two hours, it rose to its feet, tested its wings, and launched itself into the air and through the open back door without a backwards look, leaving me with a handful of pencil sketches. The following morning I came downstairs to find a small collection of objects on my back doorstep: a misshapen acorn carved into the shape of a face, a smooth holly leaf (because you know as you go higher and higher into holly trees the leaves lose their prickles and become smooth, something a good friend once showed me and is probably my favourite nature related fact); and the husk of a spider. Objects are never just things, they are always imbued with their value by the people who find them or own them. Presumably these are worth something to damsel fairies.
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I have tried to reproduce the fairy on this piece of roof tile, left over after from when I had my roof done. I haven't done it justice, but I will keep trying. And maybe I'll spot one again before they go into hibernation.
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