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The setting sun shone through the windows of the nave scattering abstract coloured patterns across the stone-flagged floor. The voices of passers-by and the clattering of wheels on the road outside were muted by the thick, ancient walls of the church. The building seemed to be breathing out, to be relaxing. I was standing in the sanctuary, feeling the tip of my tail brush against the hem of my black cassock. I knelt down by the side of the altar and placed my right paw on it. I paused for just a moment in silent prayer, a slight smile playing about my muzzle. It had been a long day, as Sundays often are, but now a quiet evening lay ahead of me. I stood, and turned to leave the sanctuary, gazing down the nave at the old familiar pews and pillars of the church.

As I walked down the nave, the claws of my foot paws clicking on the sun warmed stone, the west door of the church creaked open. The noise of the road outside became more distinct and I could make out snatches of conversation floating in on the warm evening air. Silhouetted in the early evening sunlight was a small figure: a small cat, her tail flicking nervously from side to side.

'Father Francis, is that you?'

'Yes, who is it?' I replied.

'It's Anna. There's folks wanting to meet you; they are waiting in the churchyard.'

'What's the matter,' I asked, 'You seem nervous, you're not your normal self.'

Anna stared at her foot paws, her whiskers twitching, 'They didn't seem like the kind of people who normally want to talk to you.'

'Okay,' I said, 'I'll go and see what they want.'

Anna smiled with relief and dashed away down the street calling behind her, 'Thanks, Father Francis, see you soon!'

I sighed, and pulled the church door closed behind me. I fumbled in my cassock pocket for the heavy old key and locked the door. As I rounded the corner of the church. I saw two figures leaning on the churchyard wall. The first was a skinny young fox dressed in a very well-made suit; his companion, a grizzled brown bear seemed to be the exact opposite of the fox: where the fox was lean, the bear heavily set; where the fox was well-dressed, the bear looked like he had slept in his clothes; and while the fox was smiling, the bear had a look of perpetual irritation about his features. This mismatched pair did not notice me until I walked through the gate into the churchyard, the hem of my cassock, making the long grass rustle. The fox turned to look at me in surprise, his eyes darting back and forth.

'Are you Francis?' Asked the fox, his voice betraying a certain nervousness.

'I am.' I replied.

At this point, the fox glanced to his companion, who nodded imperceptibly.

'How long have you lived here?'

'Not long, about six months.' I replied.

At this point the bear levered himself up off the wall, as he stood he towered over me. I could feel my ears flattening against my skull. The bear reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a creamy white envelope and handed it over to me.

'Read this,' He said, his voice deep and rumbling, with that he grunted to his companion and they both strode away through the long grass of the graveyard.

I stared at them as they walked away from me, my mind whirling trying to think what this might mean. I had been warned before I took the parish that cross breed canines were not very popular, but until now I hadn't encountered anything to make me feel uncomfortable. I turned the envelope over in my paws and saw a red wax seal holding the flap closed. I was still turning the letter over and over in my paws when I returned home. Normally I would have just left the letter for a while, but the circumstances under which it was given to me were strange to say the least. I left the envelope on my desk and took off my cassock. It always felt refreshing to take my cassock off after a long day to let my tail have some freedom. I curled up in the big armchair that looks out of the bay window and into the garden, letting my tail rest on my foot paws.

I reached out and picked up the letter again and broke the seal with a claw. Inside was a sheet of thick cream coloured writing paper. I unfolded it and saw printed across the top of the letter: Oxfold Hall, Stone Bank.

Dear Father Francis,

I am sorry to have to contact you like this, but it is my belief that I am the only creature in this community who will have the courage to tell you what you really need to know. Please be as kind as to come to Oxfold Hall tomorrow (Monday) for lunch at 1p.m.

yours sincerely,

Arthur Oxfold,

As I read, I could feel the tension leaving my body - my hackles dropped and my tail started to lazily wag. What could be nicer, I thought, than to go for lunch at the local manor house? I reread the letter and began to wonder what it was that this apparently innocent, sleepy little rural community was hiding from me. I thought of the villagers I had met, of Anna, the young cat who had been so far so invaluable to me. She was truly a fount of local knowledge and so kind. Although she was a cat, and I a dog we got on just famously.

I continued to sit in my study some while, watching as the sunlight changed from gold to deep red, as the shadows were chased slowly up the walls of the room by the setting sun. My mind was still turning over the letter from Arthur Oxfold. I did not know much about the local landowner; I did know that the Oxfold family were the purest of pure bred cattle, Highlands through and through. Still, I couldn't work out why I should need to meet with Oxfold, why he had taken such an interest in me. What could it be about this village that was so delicate that I had to be contacted in such a roundabout manner?

By the time I had finished considering this, my study was in near total darkness. I stood, stretched out my legs and my back feeling the stiffness of my tail start to ease. I wriggled my foot paws in the thick pile of the carpet and, groaning, made my way out of the room and the stairs to bed.