The Met, urban to the core, was foiled by a fox

Once, when I was young, our golden retriever ran away and couldn’t be found for a few days. Eventually, he turned up at a vet’s office, having been whacked by a car and limped off into the fields, where he was rescued by a kindly stranger. I remember visiting him at the vet’s over Christmas. After that, he was never quite the same.

Animals, unfortunately, do this sort of thing, but society has changed in the past 25 years. Nowadays, judging by the story of the “Croydon

cat killer”, dear Kafka’s mishap could have led to a forensic examination, a police manhunt and a hit-and-run prosecution. I am only slightly exaggerating.

In all, it has taken three years, 1,500 man-hours, thousands of pounds and dozens of cat autopsies for the police to produce a map showing a “pattern” of deaths perpetuated by a serial killer on the loose in Greater London, who now turns out not to exist. By contrast, it took cops more than two years even to suspect a pattern of behaviour by black

The feared ‘Croydon cat killer’ turned out to be city foxes

cab serial rapist John Worboys.

It’s probably no coincidence that the police force in charge of this farce was the Met, which rarely has to consider the natural world. To these urban bobbies, it was more likely that some sick maniac was hunting down cats, murdering them and then mutilating their bodies than that the poor things were getting run over and scavenged by foxes. Apparently, when you pass

inside the M25, natural forces and accidents cease to exist. London’s huge population of urban foxes, meanwhile, has got off scot-free.

It’s taking me longer than usual to make my way through London’s parks now that it’s autumn. I just can’t avoid taking diversions all the time to step on all the crunchy-looking leaves and pieces of bark. The bark always compresses with a satisfying crack, the leaves often disappoint – but it’s still worth it.