Help needed for toad spotting. And if you're male you can pee on my compost.

I always assume my garden is devoid of wildlife. Don't get me wrong - it's a typically thriving urban garden: my rose is being demolished by green fly, my pot plants are constantly thirsty, my cyclamen are fast disappearing thanks to the slugs, my flower beds get dug up by foxes, the local cats pee all over my gravel and my compost refuses to decompose (hence the need for people to come and pee on it - apparently male pee helps compost decompose).

But it hit me the other day, as I was removing yet another creature from inside my flat, that I'm actually quite spoilt for biodiversity. Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, on a spring morning, I flung open my garden door and spotted a fox. Looking damn cocky, the cheeky fellow eventually left after much arm waving, brandishing of a tennis racket and shouting on my part.

My next visitor wasn't quite so lucky. One evening I had the doors open. Bending down to switch off my TV at the mains, my hand made contact not with a plug switch but a toad. It protested and I leapt a mile.

I eventually managed to cajole him out of the door and into the garden. He emitted a sound like a baby in pain as he went. Since then I've seen a couple of toads in the garden. Whenever it's raining they wait by the back door and make a dash for it as soon as I open it up.

Then a couple of nights ago I walked outside with a washing up bowl to water my pot plants and - I can barely admit to this - felt a squelch and heard that heart-breaking cry. I'd stepped on one of the toads.

My final humiliation was when I was looking after my mum's parrot. He was, as usual, sitting happily on top of his cage. I'd opened the back door (you'd have thought I'd learnt to keep it shut) and gone for a shower. Mid shower I heard the parrot squawking for dear life. My heart leapt out of my chest. I thought of the fox and had visions of confessing to my mum as I handed her a few mangled orange, green and blue feathers.

Thankfully on this occasion the parrot had taken umbrage at another visit from the toad. I was heartily relieved, not just because it meant the parrot hadn't been eaten by a fox, but because it meant there was a chance the toad I'd stepped on had survived.

Relative calm has returned to my flat in recent days so I've decided to read up on urban wildlife. I can recommend books on urban wildlife in The Book Depository.

I've discovered that toads can live for up to 40 years. Now, my mum's parrot could live for up to 80 years, and I'm likely to inherit him. So the good news is, if I'm in the same flat and I don't tread on any more toads, I'm at least guaranteed some company when I retire.

It won't help with the compost, though.

Amelia Collins, Creative Communications Team