Our new allotment friend and other wildlife

We have been adopted by the site's resident blackbird, Mr Vorwitz. He is clearly a busy Dad, his beak always full of wriggly things. He visited us while OH was building the potato bed and I was lifting the last of the exhausted chard roots, thus exposing a goodish amount of worms and soil-bound caterpillars. Suddenly I heard a cheep nearby: it was him. He will come up very close, whether we're sitting and watching him or even while we're working, and pull squirmy things out of the recently disturbed soil. OH even directed him towards an earthworm that Mr Vorwitz had overlooked. If you scripted it, this is what it looked and sounded like:

Mr Vorwitz: "Cheep!"
OH: "You've missed one. There."
Mr Vorwitz hops closer. Looks up to OH as if to ask "Where?"
OH extends his index finger: "It's right there. An earthworm."
Mr Vorwitz tilts his little head. His look back at OH seems to say "I can't see it. Where the hell is it?"
OH, still pointing: "Behind that little mound!"
Mr Vorwitz hops around the mound. Looks up again. "That one?"
OH: "Yes."
Mr Vorwitz picks up the earthworm. The worm is toast. Mr Vorwitz looks up. "Thank you, mate."
OH: "You're welcome."
Mr Vorwitz flies off to his nest.

Mr Vorwitz is currently providing most of our animal entertainment. The Allotment Kittie has probably passed on -- we've not seen her at all for a long time -- and at home, Neuroticat is causing us anxiety because she needs surgery to remove what feels like a monstrous tumour or cyst from her leg but the op can't yet go through because she also has been discovered to have an overactive thyroid, which must be brought under control first. She is still her lovely, bubbly, stonedeaf, miaowy self but she worries me.

Mr Tubby, the neighbour's cat who has adopted us, is contributing very little to world happiness and peace. He pisses on anything that's foolishly been left lying on the kitchen tiles, or leaves mounds of shockingly smelly crap in the garden. I've invested in some latex gloves because I just can't face gardening in there at the moment -- but I must, or we won't have any flowers, but the latex tears easily so industrial-strength, acid- or base-resistance supergloves it'll be instead. Or, if I grab him right, I'll hold Mr Tubby upside-down by his hind legs and let him scrabble in his own crap until a big enough hole for my snapdragons has been dug by his grubby paws.