It's wearing a silver collar and momentarily I think of Marilyn in diamonds. I'm tempted to sit down, like this is a matinee and join in the purring. Jeanette calls over, it knows you're a cat lover. Hers has just died and she's off to Spain for six weeks - because the cat's dead. He died on her last trip away. Cats who come up here are young, nearly feral, or lost.
But I can't sit down. I have a list in my mind. I have to pot on the kale and check the cucumbers. I paid £2.60 for four cucumber seeds. They have germinated, but one has a distorted leaf. These are destined for the polytunnel. I check the lime tree because I want to collect its blossom this year. And it's time to pick elderflowers, but ideally with the morning sun on them. The mint patch is filling out, the lovage and parsley are about to flower.
I've just thrown a banana skin under the table when I see the fox. S/he is nervous but brave and wants food. I'm not going to feed it. Someone saw it with a pigeon in its mouth recently and that's how it should be. Its eyes are burnished, nearly the same colour as the fur of its face. Its stare is uncanny. My greeting sounds patronising.
The cat, of course, has gone and left me with a photo of itself lounging on the bench. The fox settles by the plum tree, scratching itself, looking at me. I am mesmerised. In the cemetery trees, a blackbird's sounding a warning.
I carry another watering can to the polytunnel and soak the salad leaves. A slug has eaten the coriander seedlings. I rescue an exhausted bee. My legs are aching and I've been stung by red ants. My table's full of plants to find spaces for - pumpkins, squash, purple sprouting broccoli, kale, ragged jack, more runners. The leeks need to fatten up more and I need to go home.
The sun's going down and I can hear a fire somewhere, people chatting. I stop at the top of the hill to take a picture of the sky - red and blue above hills and houses. Behind, the white cat and the fox are in their own worlds and I'm back to mine.
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