It was about 3 o’clock in the morning that I woke up to the sound of a
fox in the street outside.
The noise it made was
not like those spine-chilling shrieks of their mating call but a cross somewhat
between a bark and a growl. The noise persisted.
I climbed out of bed,
pulled back a section of curtain, and raised slats on a Venetian blind to look
out.
Outside, a fox was
directing its gaze at something and making this noise. It was agitated.
The fox was at the
edge of the road pointing at a cat, no more than a metre away from it. I had
not even seen this cat, as its colour was (as in camouflage) much the same as
the wet pavement on which it sat. I later saw that the animal had white legs.
The cat sat on its
haunches and, as the fox tried to grab it in his jaws, a quick swish of bared
claws soon sent Renard in reverse.
This sparring lasted
for some time, until the cat rose from its sitting position and rushed at the
fox – which retreated post haste.
The next phase was the
cat chasing the fox and the fox chasing the cat, with no result but with the
fox continuing its intimidatory noises.
When the cat was
chasing and threatening the fox, it raised its tail and swished it from side to
side.
Had the cat been
frightened of the fox it could so easily have climbed a garden wall or tree and
been safe. But it didn’t.
There could have been
no territorial dispute, so it must have been that the fox wanted to kill the
cat – for its own or cubs’ food.
After all these high
jinx, the cat ran to beneath a Land Rover car to find superior fighting ground.
The fox
circumnavigated the Land Rover several times, sometimes poking its nose under
the chassis – only to withdraw it very smartly.
Finally, the fox gave
up the chase and trotted off down the road – hungry. It had learned something
about cats. And so had I.
