The baby foxes are getting bigger and are much more active. Our cats, Domino and Simon, are getting antsy from being indoors all the time. We've never had this situation before, a fox family residing under our front porch. The porch we walk on, sit on, and visitors step up on to reach the door.
So I do some research.
The internet consensus is that foxes nesting in such places as under a front porch is definitely not good. Not good at all. Words like diseases and flea infestation and attacking pets keep coming up. Solutions include things like making sure porches are sealed.
As they say, the horse is already out of the barn on that one.
"I've found a place locally that can trap foxes and relocate them in the woods. They also track other foxes and try to spread them out so there aren't too many in one place where they have to compete for food," I say. "I wonder how much something like this costs?"
We agree, with some reluctance, that this would be a good thing. I say I will contact them for more information next week.
So we spend our time - cats included - mostly in the house. Mama Fox is keeping an eye on us. We don't want any more fox/cat or, actually, fox/anybody drama.
The day comes to call the fox trapper people and I wait and wait until it is too late. I am a little sad to see these creatures go. I worry about the process of trapping them. I worry about not having them moved. I am worrying way too much.
I stop. I realize I haven't heard any fox noises for some time. I crawl in the back of the pantry, the one that shares a foundation with the front porch and put my ear to the wall.
Nothing. No movement, no vocalizations. Maybe they are all sleeping.
I look out windows frequently. No fox sightings. At all.
I call National Asset, who happens to be out somewhere in the world doing what national assets do, and tell him I have no signs of life under the front porch.
"I haven't seen any of them on the animal-cam either," he confirms.
I feel lighter. I venture out and do a walkabout through our woods. I spot some fresh digging under one of the out buildings and there is a different odor.
"Do you think she has moved them over there?" I ask. We decide to move the animal-cam to the other building for observation. We wait a few days. Nothing.
"She's moved them, hasn't she!" I say with great relief. I keep the cats indoors a few more days for good measure, then release them. They have had a bad case of cabin fever and are thrilled (or whatever it is cats feel on such an occasion) to be outside once again.A few weeks later I lay awake, windows open wide to the warm summer night. I hear a cry, the distinctive cry I had only recently learned to recognize.
Goodnight Mama Fox. Thank you for moving your babies into the woods.
