"Oho," he chuckles, "I see that cute little nose goin'. You like blackberries? I'll get you berries. We got plenty to share."

In the front room, there's an old woman slumped in a cushioned chair next to the window, with some knitting on her lap. There's a table beside her with magazines, some sort of drink, and what appears to be a whistle. Cricket looks over at her for a moment, but the chair is rocking gently and she seems to be asleep, or mostly there.

"That's Aunt Winnie," he murmurs to the fox. "We'll try not to wake 'er."

He carries him into what must be his own bedroom, a modest affair with a narrow mattress on a wooden frame, several blankets, and a desk with a few books and tools on it. Setting the fox down on the bed, he hastens to fetch some water and towels from the bathroom, sitting by him when he returns.

"I had a pet cat once, a few years back," he says softly. "I know you ain't a pet. Foxes ain't pets, but it's nice to have someone to talk to here."