It's that time, when foxes appear on Christmas cards. There's a path made by foxes from the hole in my hedge to the fence on the other side of the front garden. My neighbour, who has a webcam, has counted at least ten different animals, plus two badgers and a hedgehog.
I hear the foxes most nights, from about 8.30/9pm, chattering or screeching and of course the dog goes mad, throwing herself at the window. The cat doesn't seem to hear, or doesn't care. When I come home late, there's usually one on the path. There used to be one that slept by my front door.
When I told a friend recently about finding a fox among my jumpers, she said I'd found my spirit animal. I'd be happy with that. Cultural associations vary but pest? Never. When I asked her to leave my jumpers, she did (I'm sure she was a young vixen). She'd been asleep in my bedroom for hours without me knowing, without the cat realising, until she must have made a noise and the cat was alerted.
It did feel magical. Foxes have short lives.
Comments
I'm entirely with you.