For the cauldron?

I found this newt in Smudge's waterbowl back in the spring.







This toad turned up in a weed bucket at the weekend. There's a mummified frog in the coal bunker and, yes, "thrice the brinded cat hath mewed", in fact the brinded cat never stops mewing, though it is just Smudge complaining about the Coop's economy cat nosh. I think fate is dropping some heavy handed hints about my vocation in life. Just call me Granny Weatherwax.

Smudge has graduated from Wall Watch to Pot Watch. I guess the mouse has decamped from the hydrangeas but somehow I don't think the azaleas are going to offer any more security.