Psychological operations

As the battle of the back garden enters its fifth year I am wheeling out a new weapon which I am hoping will deliver a decisive blow to the feline-squirrel axis. The squirty-bottle barrage has proven to have only a limited impact and katyusha-esque volleys of tennis balls have resulted in very few hits and nothing like a knock out blow. But now I'm predicting a seismic shift in the balance of power as we move to a completely new level of tactical psychological warfare, the enemies morale will be crushed, it will all be over by Christmas. There will be no hiding place, nothing can withstand the might of... the Power Megaphone (with pistol grip).


The first salvo went something like this...

*crackle*

You cat! Come out from under the privet, your creepy-creepy across the lawny-lawny won't work now.

*squeal of feedback*

Yes, you can act all nonchalant but your time of unhindered Greenfinchery is over, no longer will untrammelled Blue Tittery occur on this corner of some foreign (well Welsh) field. Now it is you who will live under constant harassment, your every step will be announced to the world, you have nothing to look forward to but guttering, choking, drowning ridicule [long drawn out bout of evil laughter].

*crackle*

Oh, hi Darren,... ...Yep, got it for Christmas, it's taken me this long to get batteries... ...Oh, just talking to your cat,... ...No, not much doing,... ...Uh-huh,... OK,... See-ya.

*crackle*