I couldn’t get a dog, so I got a hamster. I know why people buy hamsters. They’re the pets parents say ‘yes’ to to placate dog- and cat-loving kids, because parents don’t want to commit to dogs and cats. Hamsters live for two years at best. And that’s not much of a commitment at all.
But I’m not a parent. I rent a house, and I’m not allowed dogs or cats. But I’ve also adopted small animals before – a mouse, once, and a rabbit – as has my other half. So we got a hamster. And we named him Booker.
Sunday afternoon, a red fox was sunning itself in a garden two houses down. He was so close, I could have touched him – and so tame, I really probably could have. You see, he’s a common sight in our neighbourhood: he prowls about the flowers by night and hides himself in sleep by day. But still, I found him unsettling. Not because he’s wild – or, as wild as a suburban London fox can be – but because he’s stealthy. This fox prefers midnight to midday, and the cover of streetlights to four o’clock rays.