8.A wake-up call

The cat was moving the curtains with her paw, letting in some of the early morning July sunlight. Being woken at 5.30 a.m. on a Sunday, even on a warm summer morning, was very unwelcome. We had both had busy weeks at work, and had spent most of Saturday working, and the nature of our wake-up call was worrying too. The last time we had experienced a feline alarm clock had been when a burglar had entered our house several years earlier, before we had escaped to the country.
I leapt out of bed and pulled back the curtains. It took a few seconds to realise that this time it was burglars of a different kind. Moving slowly along the drive in front of the house and squeezing past the car was a herd of cattle. In seconds they would reach the garden or the garage, neither a suitable place for several tonnes of prime beef.
In boxer shorts and flip-flops it took me less than half a minute to make it to the garden – they weren’t there. Around the outbuildings in another few seconds and I was face to face with the invaders. Half a dozen were exploring the garage and the others were in the drive, apparently waiting their turn. I startled them, but they made no move. I raised my arms, conscious of the need to avoid panic – there was no stampede, but enough of a rush to rock the car and remove the wing mirror in their efforts to pass through the narrow gap.
A call to the local stockman resolved the escapee problem very quickly, but the excitement was not yet over, and our early rise proved to be a positive experience after all. There was no chance of a lie-in now, so we settled in the conservatory with a cup of tea. Within minutes we had another visitor. Around the corner, glancing furtively from side to side was a small chestnut brown creature with short legs and white under parts – unmistakably a weasel, lacking the longer black-tipped tail of a stoat. It explored briefly, sniffing the doorstep and the plant pots and standing on its hind legs to sniff the air. Within seconds it was gone, back the way it had come.
As if the voles in our garden didn’t have enough problems, with resident barn owls and a cat that spent most of its time waiting for a vole to appear. Here was one of the most efficient killers in the British countryside - but it wasn’t hunting today. It returned a few seconds later with a playmate and they proceeded to entertain us with one of the most spectacular acrobatic displays I have ever seen. They leapt in the air in unison, appeared to dance exotically together, and for a few seconds they resembled a furry brown ball rolling across the patio. We were mesmerised, but again they were gone almost before we could catch our breath.
Being deprived of a lie-in on a Sunday morning was not so bad after all.