My cat Fledermaus wanted in this morning. I would not let her come in. It was a gorgeously bright, balmy day, the type of day we Krauts honor with "herrlich". And my cat, having been cooped up inside nearly all winter, needed to stay outside and shake off all that Cabin Fever. Or so I thought.
When I opened the front door, Fledermaus made a mad dash only to be rebuffed by my right foot. She didn't give me a pissed-off squint but implored me with her largest saucer eyes. Yeah, I've seen that Schtick many times before.
"It's warm, little girl," I said, "It's bright and sunny. A great day to frolic, climb trees, find Chipmunks and torture them." Fledermaus just whimpered.
Spoiled brat, I muttered and then walked down the steps to get the mail.
That's when I saw the Red Fox.
A Red Fox is a rarity on my property. I last saw one maybe a decade ago. And that Red Fox was a sight to behold. That Red Fox had a coat that shined a brilliant radiant vermillion. That Red Fox made you understand the meaning of "foxy". But this one I saw today was mangy. It looked like a dwarf coyote someone had spray painted red. And it had a mean and hungry look--appropriate for the Ides of March, I suppose. This Red Fox just stood in the middle of my road, trying to stare me down. I thought it might even say, "Hey, you talkin' to me?" I was starting to get scared. Usually foxes run at the first sight of a Homo sapiens--that's been my experience at least--but not this one. He stood his ground like an emaciated George Zimmerman on all fours.
Well, yeah, so now I understood why Fledermaus wanted back in. I ran back up the steps, opened the front door, and Fledermaus raced inside.
When I walked back down, the Fox had gone. Thank God!