06/14/2026
Last night, after watching Scotland capitulate to Hungary, I turned off the TV. The groaning that had accompanied the game ( my next door neighbour is also Scottish) had ceased. Instead, I could hear some light sawing. Now this is Sunday, 10pm in Shrewsbury, UK. This should be the bastion of hush. I tutted. The sawing continued. I decided to investigate and track the noise. Venturing outside, I found that it was not coming from the garden of angry Scottish Mike, dismantling his Scottish flagpole. The sound was emanating from my own garden. As the only people at home were Crumble the cat ( not into woodwork) and me, this was a mystery. I crept closer to the noise, detecting that it was coming from my hand-carved pergola. (Middle class but looking forward to July 4th) The light was dim but I managed to spot what it was. A giant rat! I ran away fast. After a minute, guilt got me. The rat had been panting, probably dehydrated. I couldn’t leave it to die. I returned with trepidation, crept towards the dark panting beast and placed a saucer of water beside it. It didn’t move. I leant in. It was not a rat. It was actually a fat hedgehog. I felt even worse. I ran back, vaulted over the cat, grabbed his cat food and returned. My sole knowledge of hedgehogs at that point was ‘Cat food is good. Milk is bad.’
I approached Prickles and realised there was another hedgehog there too. Poor hot hogs! I placed the food between them and sat down on the chair to watch and made sure they ate. Nothing. Not a peep. I turned to the internet where I learned that
1: Americans have pet hedgehogs
2: If you find a sick hedgehog it better be Monday to Friday 9-5
3: If a hedgehog isn’t moving, sprinkle water on it.
I performed the latter, much like a priest. Nothing. I was dismayed. Hedgehogs are dying out, I don’t want to be responsible for the death of these two. I returned to the internet… and discovered the awful truth. The sound I heard was the mating huffing of the male hedgehog. He can do it for up to two hours to impress the lady hedgehog- and I had plodded in, mid foreplay, and ruined his night. As I slunk away, I realised I had become my mother. As a teenager, if I had a boy over she’d last 5 minutes before joining us in the lounge with a plate of custard creams. I am both my mother and a hedgehog c*ckblocker. What a night.
For obvious reasons I didn’t take a photo, but here is Crumble voicing his displeasure at having his food given to two sexy hogs.
