The Fox Wars

 

When I moved into my little tiny flat all by myself I immediately wondered, what would move in with me this time. I've had as a flat mate, the cockroach Johnny and the Mouse Mickey. Please, I prayed to a non existant being and when I say prayed I sort of mean asked the air out loud, don't let it be another Cockroach OR a rat. I just shuddered as I wrote that. Rat. Okay seriously woman, stop it.

So when I woke from one of my first nights in the flat and realised with a sudden horror that leaving the door onto the roof terrace open as I slept was probably not very wise, not because of intruders, the door is made of glass they can get in even if it's locked but because a fox or a rat could have strolled right in. This is London. This city is dirty and filled with pests. We all remember the story of the baby being stolen from a cot and eaten by a fox right? Yeah, I'm not sure that's what happened either but the BBC said it did. And how did Mr Fox get in? He walked through the back door didn't he.

So after remonstrating with myself for being a fool I kept my door shut the next night. At 5am I was woken by a sound. I sat up in bed and strained my eyes into the dark outside (I am not a fan of closed curtains as I like the Moon) There was something outside my door and it was scratching. With a sudden gush of 'Oh my god he'll eat the baby' (i.e me) fear I jumped out of bed and banged on the window and he ran away. A fox. On a roof terrace. Oh yes people, oh yes.

Now, this being me, once the 'He'll eat the baby' fear had subsided I thought, awwww, my new pet. And so I began talking about my little visitor but I wasn't met with an 'Awwwww how cute' I was met with horror and 'No, you don't want to like that thing, they're violent and nasty.' Now of course this is how people reacted to Mickey (without the nasty and violent bit) so I thought, spoil sports, what do you know.

Well, they know a lot actually. But first I have to admit to being a little disappointed when the fox didn't come back. Although I was a little perplexed by the appearance of mud puddles near my plants and how the plants roots seemed to be growing up and out of the soil instead of down. What would a Fox dig a plant for? Well to eat slugs, apparently this is one of the many things they are known for. I know, I didn't know either. But people, people know this.

Well this upset me, my plants are the babies in my house and he's only going to eat them. Do you think perhaps that was the type of baby that got stolen from that house and eaten? Of course he doesn't want the plant, just the home it lives in so he can remove the larder of all insect snacks leaving the plant, exposed, cold, homeless and without nutrition. Yes, I know plants don't eat insects but it's a metaphor. Or some such excuse. Shhhhh, you're distracting me.

My point is, this little Foxy pest was no longer looking like a cute companion a la poison eating, rave dancing Mickey.

And then I woke with a HUGE fright. Someone was trying to break down my front door. Or was it the back door? No it's the front door. My god. Do I run and get a knife? Do I scream for help? Do I tell them to go away? What do I do, it's double locked, you won't get in. You won't. The noise stops. I pause. They must have been drunk, they've got the wrong door and gone away, they knew I was too dangerous to mess with, they, they, they were a bloody Fox climbing and jumping over a fence and now sniffing around my plants. Shoo! Shoo! Bang, bang, bang. No, not a gun, unfortunately, the window. Get out of it. Off he runs up the roof opposite where he stands in perfect silhouette against the nights sky and stares at me. We are engaged in a Clint Eastwood style stand off. Casually he starts to stroll back down onto the roof terrace. I bang the window. He stops. Then realising that all I'm doing is making a noise, he carries on. I, with very shaky hands, open the back door 'He'll kill the baby!' My head screams at me whilst my heart makes a bid to escape out through my neck. He runs away. Victory. He climbs back on top of the roof. I pick up my outdoor broom and bang it on the floor. He stares. Then comes back down. I bang the broom again and this time the head falls off. He pauses, I stumble to get the head and wave the broom at him. He runs back up. I run indoors and lock the door, more scared than the fox. He stays on the roof and stares at me, then he strolls onto the roof terrace before casually moving along the wall at the back to next door.

I collapse in bed and wake every five minutes looking for signs of this baby eating fox.

Two nights later, I'm watching the TV with the back door open, trying to cool down my small flat after a hot day. I get up to make a cup of tea and there, silhouetted against the nights sky is Mr Fox. Again we do a Clint Eastwood stand off. Again he runs away then back again, then away, then back again. Again, I lock the door and hide inside 'He'll eat the bloody baby won't he?'

And as I cower inside the flat and try not to look outside, I realise that this cannot continue*. I am Terrorised by a fox, prisoner in my own one room palace, scared of every shadow, Clint Eastwood without the gun. It has to stop and I will be victorious in the end. But having realised that the bowl of Bleach I was going to 'Accidently' leave outdoors could mean a Fox corpse on the roof garden and I'm not sure that's any better, I have a dilemma, how the hell do I beat him? I am already fantasising about the fantastic shrug he'll make me in the end. Coco Fox fur.

The battle for the roof terrace begins...

*I'm not actually in my flat but dog sitting a delightful Border Collie in a WHOLE different town, having left my flat in day light whilst sticking one finger behind me as I double locked the door but you know, dramatic effect/license and all that.