The Rat, the Cat and the Bees

The above title sounds like the name of some 1930's thriller but this is literally a tale about bees, a cat and a rat.
It was a beautiful day yesterday, sunny and what passes for warm at 9 degrees compared to the 2 degrees we've had recently. I was out in the garden checking on everything and was relieved to see bees emerging from all three hives. There is some time to go before winter is passed but to see that all three hives have made it to mid February is encouraging. During cold spells, bees stay huddled in the hive trying to keep the temperature round the queen at 35 degrees and eating their stores of honey or the candy I provided to top up their stores. During this time they produce waste as normal but rather than dirty their hives they have the ability to hold it in their bodies until the next fine day. So when I saw a cloud of bees outside each hive I assumed they were all rushing outside to relieve themselves like coach passengers at Leicester Forest Service Station rushing to the toilets. However sitting on the familiar stone outside the hive, I was very encouraged to see some of the bees were managing to bring pollen back to the hive. There are not many sources of pollen at the moment but the alder catkins are one.

 Incidentally the tape you can see round the hive is because I bought the hive off ebay from China and it is so badly made that without the tape there are gaps between the brood box and the super which would allow other bees to enter and rob this hive of its stores. When spring is here properly, I shall put on a second brood box, encourage the bees to move into that one and then take the first one away for cleaning and to fix the gap.
Whilst I was sitting peacefully watching the bees, next door's cat Archie was sitting on the wall of the compost heap. Archie is a mean cat, he has never been the same since a terrible accident when he got caught in some wire and spent three days trapped in a hedge. The vet had to amputate his tail and it has left him soured and bitter. Nevertheless, I was I suppose, grateful to him when he dropped behind the compost heap and came out after a short struggle with a dead rat.


 The compost heap backs against the fence, the other side of which is the neighbour's chickens so I presume the rat was after chicken feed or possibly eggs. I was less grateful when he deposited it in the middle of the lawn. It was not an object of beauty as you can see. I wrapped a paper tissue round my hand and gingerly picked it up by the tail and walked it the full length of the garden down to the bin, leaving it on the bin whilst I went inside to get a bag or something to wrap it in. It then occurred to me that rather than sending it to landfill, it would be more environmentally friendly to let it decompose naturally and become food for other creatures. So I picked it up again and once more strode the length of the garden  until I could hurl it over the fence into the wooded undergrowth of the valley beyond.
I feel I spent too much time yesterday striding round the garden in wellingtons with a dead rat swinging from my hand. Such behaviour will not get me on the cover of Vogue.