MR F and I went to see a terrific amateur performance of The Deep Blue Sea by Terence Rattigan in Beaconsfield.
Knowing I would get an extra hour’s sleep, as the clocks were going back, I stayed up to watch the late film Flying Blind with Helen McCrory,
So, when I woke early at 7am and couldn’t get back to sleep I was seriously miffed. Worse: I then remembered I hadn’t altered the bedroom clock before nodding off, so I was still stuck on summer time. It was therefore officially only 6am – and very dark. So much for a lie-in.
What made matters worse was that, while I stomped about downstairs, Mr F was snoozing upstairs, happily at one with the universe and its new timetable.
While waiting for the kettle to boil, I glanced out of the window. In summer time, which I, and the kitchen clock were still on, it was 8am and now light.
I didn’t at first notice the black and grey cat having an early morning drink from the pond. Then I saw the fox. It was staring hungrily through the bars of our garden gate at its potential breakfast - a catburger.
The feline spotted him and froze, then defiantly carried on drinking, occasionally looking back to check the fox wasn’t about to invade its personal space. Or worse.
At about the same time that the young fox worked out he could make himself small enough to squeeze under our gate, I realised he could probably also push his way through our cat flap.
The fox wriggled under the gate successfully, making himself so flat he should have resembled one of those cardboard cut-outs in Tom and Jerry cartoons. He began sniffing plants, probably to go with his planned breakfast. The cat, quick as a flash, had bolted on to the fence.
I rushed upstairs, shouting for help with locking the cat flap, unfortunately something I’ve never mastered.
Completely disorientated by the rude awakening, Mr F staggered downstairs with his eyes half closed, locked the cat flap, announced that the fox had gone – and the cat was still safely on top of the fence – and crawled back to bed where he was soon fast asleep again. Talk about cool for cats. I felt as though I’d already done a day’s work. But it was Sunday. And – oh Lordy – it was still only 8am in ‘real’ (winter) time.