Parking Lot Fox. It kind of has a nice cadence to it.
We’ve had a fox roaming our neighborhood in Plymouth all summer. Mom always sees him, Dad and Billy sometimes see him, I never see him. I tell Mom that she’s making it up all the time.
So imagine my shock and surprise when a waterlogged, flat-furred fox trotted through my office’s parking lot at 7:50 this morning to un-bury something next to the curb that he had saved to feast upon at a later date.
Personally, I had envisioned seeing the neighborhood fox trot jauntily through our backyard, fluffy and resplendently gleaming red in the sun. Because of the rain, the parking lot fox had a rat-tail with a sad white tip at the end.