Maurice and the small striped bear of Britain

After days of blue sky we all woke this morning to a sky the colour and texture of the inside of an oyster shell, a pearly day, still, calm and quiet. We walked, just Her and me, over the hill, but our path was blocked by the wild ponies, so we skirted around them.

Brave as only a cat can be I stalked through the bones of last years heather flowers, and the ponies did not see me.

Across the hill I hunted, between tree and rock, a wild place. And then She thought to go an see the city of badgers. They would not be out now. They would be sleeping, for badgers are night time and dusk creatures. They would be sleeping, curled in their setts in nests of bracken and moss and their cubs would be curled tight too, for warmth and to keep away the dreams of daytime.

So, we followed the track over the hill to the small wood and the city of badgers and there were their setts and the signs of spring, scratchings and gatherings of clean nesting bracken. Closer I crept and She worried, for badgers are fierce and wild with paws so strong and claws as long as fingers. I stood, two cats tails away from one of the doorways, and secretly called.

And out came a badger, face striped and blinking. The badger ran from the one hole, skirted around me, down to the other, so shocked to see in the bright light of daytime, a creature coloured like the setting sun fallen on her doorstep. Too fast to photograph, as close as a whisker, and She so worried by the fierceness of the wild thing. I looked up at Her, and smiled a secret cat smile, and thanked the small striped bear of Britain for granting us an audience on this pearl of a day.