Over the last few years I have befriended a stray cockerel, an abandoned kitten and most recently a hedgehog. In each instance the friendship lasted weeks. This blog is about three more relationships – all were fleeting with the first two occurring in England and the third in France

For walks on muddy days I wear a sturdy pair of leather shoes. Afterwards they are left to dry overnight on the mat outside the front door. On this particular occasion, when I collected them next day their heel tags had vanished (see illustration), a discovery which I assumed was the work of some animal vandal. These tags were made of a softer leather than that used for other parts of the shoes and obviously, for some, this leather had particular appeal.

But who was the perpetrator? In Richmond the possibilities are limited; it was either a fox, a mouse or a rat. The fox hypothesis was easily dismissed. My shoes that morning were next to one another just as I had left them the night before. Had it been a fox, it would have walked off with its chosen shoe to chew elsewhere. Moreover, careful chewing is not a fox attribute! Next, which rodent? Were it the work of a mouse the cut edges would have been neat and smooth. As they are rough and ragged, it was a rat who was the guilty party. Problem solved.

My next relationship, and one all together more pleasant, was with a blue tit. Being early spring they are making their nests, and in our London courtyard we often see them collecting moss or feathers – a blue tit’s nest that is not cosy would be rare! In a bid to help, Rohan asked to cut my hair so that she could leave the cut ends outside as possible lining material. 

The clumps of hair dotted around the courtyard slowly grew smaller, but whether it was the work of a bird or the wind was unclear. To resolve the matter we watched out whenever we had time and at one moment Rohan saw our blue tit sifting through some of the hairs and then flying off with a beak full. It was pleasing that my shed hair could be recycled to such advantage!

The last relationship was, at one and the same time, gruesome and farcical. After a day’s drive we arrived at our Brittany cottage for our ‘Easter’ break. As always, opening the front door to see everything as it should be was a delight. But our dream did not last long as, in the bathroom upstairs, apart from three bars of soap opened and chewed, dotted everywhere was evidence that a rat was, or had been, in residence. Floors and towelling had to be cleaned and while no rat was found we did discover its entrance which we quickly blocked with a piece of wood. That done, we fell asleep feeling reassured. 

For two days there were no signs of our rodent lodger and we assumed the invasion was over. However, the position suddenly changed when one evening as I was in the bath upstairs, Rohan who was downstairs heard sounds of scuttling coming from my study overhead. She went to investigate and, on opening the study door, as brazen as can be, a brown rat ran over her feet as it sped across the room to hide under a bed. It was then that a very anxious Rohan shouted to me for help and, in response, I rushed to see what she wanred. She explained what had happened, we shut the study door and the search began. 

The room, which serves as study-cum-spare-bedroom-cum-television-room is packed and together we set about moving and lifting all of the furniture and inspecting all the walls for holes. In the general turmoil twice more the rat rushed across the open floor. 

I spent most of my time on my hands and knees and was soon familiar with all of the room’s floor-level nooks and crannies. Then, when the rat went into a particular corner and ‘disappeared’, I realised he must have gone down a two-metre long tunnel created by a plank of wood resting against the skirting board. Moreover, if I was right, if I could push the board hard against the wall the rat, which from his colouring we knew was particularly vicious, would be crushed.

I pushed the board with all my force, the rat squeaked, and that was the end of the story. Well almost. When I finally stood up, Rohan gently reminded me that I had undertaken the thirty-minute chase stark naked. I had jumped out of the bath and rushed to her help still dripping wet. But at least I was now dry! We sat down, laughed and I then got dressed. In all the excitement, neither Rohan nor I – and nor the rat probably – cared one way or another.

The illustration shows the backs of my pair of walking shoes with both leather tags removed. Under the hole is the exposed cream-coloured heal padding!

For helping me write this blog I would like to thank Yves, Rohan and Vivien