So there I was, Saturday night past midnight in the living room rapt reading
that final book about the boy wizard. P had long-since departed for bed, and while I was dog tired, I kept cajoling myself with, "just one more chapter.."
And as I was still up, the house was unlocked, the garden lights on and the back door ajar. Nothing to worry about. It's a quiet neigbourhood, nice to have a flow-through of air and I'd
surely hear anything untoward.
Anyway, at about 12:30 out of corner of my right eye I notice beady eyes, pointy ears and snout and sandy brown fur.
I naturally thought it was our friends Lana and Jon's dog Bela who we're very used to having to stay when they're away. It didn't immediately occur to me that it was slightly odd for Bela to show-up at our place unannounced at such an hour. Lana and Jon do have a set of our doorkeys and have been known to -- and are most welcome to -- stop-by at all hours.
Maybe due to a combination of fatigue at the late hour and under the book's grip, I didn't pay any more attention to our visitor, apart from noticing that Bela had lost weight. Hey, Bela's lost some weight -- good for her -- I thought and returned to
The Deathly Hallows.
A few moments more and it dawned on me that clearly an albeit slim-sized Bela hadn't just decided to break-out of De Beauvoir and pitch-up a quarter of a mile away from home in the dead of night to raid Emmie's food bowl (which is
never,
ever anything but empty anyway).
I removed my glasses, rubbed my eyes and realised that the pointy ears and snout weren't Bela's at all, but instead belonged to a juvenile city fox.
Now Stokie's full of these wiley critters living large on an abundance of scraps, discarded take-aways and streets lined with bin bags.
It's been a long time since I railed against Hackney Council -- but rest assured, refuse collection is still abysmal.
Only three weeks ago -- maybe this chap or an equally inquisitive relative -- padded emulsion paint left outside by the builders across our brand new decking.
Unlike their country cousins, it's widely known that city foxes really are very bold, but I've never heard of one actually venturing with such aplomb into someone's house and just making itself at home.
"Hey, creature. Out" I yelled. Ems and Bela both *tend to* respond to my orders, but this fox just regarded me with mild curiosity and continued about his sniffing.
"Hey, creature. Shoo. Shoo," quoth I again and all to nought.
At this point P ventured down to investigate the commotion -- well, to tell me off for waking her with this unnecessary racket. And unlike me she thought our visitor delightfully cute crouched as he was by this time under a living room chair. But acknowledging in heart-of-hearts that a fox is the wrong kind of house pet, we worked together to lure him from hiding and out the door. Though snaring the fellow wasn't easy and all the displaced building junk in the house just made for excellent cover.
Eventually, between us we managed to coax Mr Todd out of his lair, downstairs and back out into the garden.
I'm just pleased that Emmie wasn't home -- as a Springer chasing a fox through an up-market Steptoe's Yard of a house strewn with furniture, boxes, timber, rough cuts of plywood, bathroom fittings, dust and numerous power tools would have been utter mayhem. Moreover, I really wouldn't have relished the job of extricating a young bleeding fox from Emm's teeth and having to clean-up and dispose of said vermin either at that or any hour.
Bela, you might be a bit of a madam and prone to yapping at passers-by, but you're welcome anytime.
And Mr. Fox -- with the building work nearly finished and Emmie returning home, from Thursday onward, please
Beware Of The Dog.
