Stoatally

We got up this morning for a nice, lazy Sunday morning potter about the house, doing bits and bobs of straightening up and hoovering up the mysteriously large amount of shredded tissue that was appeared on the front room carpet overnight.

Carole nipped out to the shops, and to collect (and then return) a delivery at Next. So I was left at home doing stuff.

Or I should have been.

I was distracted by a stoat.

Yeah, that happened.

It’s never happened before. Ever. And I have been in plenty more stoat-worthy environs than a street in Huddersfield, I can tell you.

I just happened to glance out of the window, having caught a movement in my peripheral vision. The street is loaded with cats, so I naturally assumed it would be one of them. They’re always worth a watch because they’re frequently hilarious with their almost honey badger levels of not giving a shit. Whether it’s climbing up to sit on a car roof or trying to hide themselves in the grass on the green, they are an endless joy to watch and the perfect excuse not to do housework.

But it wasn’t a cat.

It was a stoat.

Randomly.

And then it just disappeared. It ran under a car an vanished. I didn’t see it come out the other side. Or turn back. Or anything. And believe me, I looked.

I even went so far as to open the front door and lie on the floor so that I could see under the car it had run underneath to try and work out where it was. Which, if nothing else, probably gave the neighbours something to talk about.

I sort of hope that it didn’t climb up into the car, like you hear of kittens doing, because it was warm. I dread to think what sort of damage a damp stoat can do to the inner workings of an internal combustion engine. Or for that matter, what the inner workings of an internal combustion engine do to a stoat.

I have a feeling that this stoat is going to be like the sparrowhawk from earlier this year, or that time I saw a pheasant in next door’s garden. Just a random animal encounter out of nowhere that will never, ever be repeated.

Or, conversely, we’ll go out of the back door one morning to find a stoat killed and laid out on the patio with a proud looking cat sitting close by…