To the surprise of absolutely no one, Patrick has screwed up
again. Normally, I don’t need to point this out. That’s what my father is there
for. But this time the usual chorus of nagging cannot be overlooked because
I've put the lives of multiple children at risk.
I'm always guarded against appearing dramatic,
inconsiderate, arrogant, pathetic and any other trait that I consider
inseparable from douchebaggery. It has now been confirmed though that I am all
those things, and have viable evidence for securing my place in hell.
It all started last Thursday evening, I was emptying scraps of
leftover pasta into our outside bin when I noticed something gamboling about
behind me. I figured it was the dog from down the road so I threw whatever I
had for him* to devour.
Within seconds he bounded forward and I could hear rummaging
at the discarded food. He then approached me in a hostile manner, walking
upright and stiffly with his head slightly raised.
It was dark out so when I bent down and started rubbing him,
I noticed that the hairs were strikingly bristle, especially along the neck and
back. He had pricked ears, they were directed forwards, and his eyes had a
fixed stare. At this point I became aware that it was not the neighbourhood dog.
I squinted to recognise what breed it was, it didn't seem like a
domesticated animal. Slumped down the side of the house, it was difficult to
see. After initial confusion I realised that it wasn't a dog, and that I was petting a fox.
Can we all take a second to gag collectively?
Panic set in. My heart started pounding, my hands were
shaking, and my breathing became tight and restricted. My face went numb and my
palms were sweaty. My mind began racing, mentally bracing myself for the
newspaper headlines which would be documenting my tragic death the next day. I was fully prepared to curl up in a ball, admit defeat and greet
Joan Rivers on the other side.
I was terrified but I knew making sudden movements would
encourage him to attack me. I backed away slowly, avoiding eye contact and
avoiding escalating the encounter. If he was suspicious of my behaviour he
could regard a direct stare as a threat.
Once inside, I instantly locked the back door, because my
mindset in that moment informed me he was fully capable of opening it if
left unlatched. The evil genius had succeeded in his cunning plan of
trickery so an unsecured entrance would be no obstacle.
After a period of hyperventilating around my kitchen and pacing
in circles, I began rigorously washing my hands. I did this for a solid twenty
minutes. I tried to wash away the shame, the idiocy, the deception, and the
rabies. I used up over half a tub of handwash. I was like an Eskimo applying
friction to warm up. My hands were pink the next morning at work, needless to say I received some weird looks.
I've spotted him since, loitering around the place, with this
noticeable smirk across his face. He gives me the side eye but I do my best to
ignore it. Seeing him in the cold light of day is different, it is not like the
night we shared before. I trusted him, I opened myself up to him and now I feel
used. He perused me, and I gave him what he wanted. I am such an idiot.
Yesterday, my next door neighbour knocked on the door. He
called to warn my housemates and I about the estate's latest resident. He and his wife are both very alarmed by multiple sightings of the
wild varmint in their back garden. They have two young children, them and many other locals are not at all pleased with the current situation. Apparently the animal has become accustomed to human interaction. I despair.
Neighbour: "The bastard is around seeking food, some
gobshite must have fed him?" He demanded frantically.
Ahem,
Patrick, the fox tamer, at your service xo
*I assumed the fucker was male, the sex remains unknown.
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