A hungry fox spotted some juicy grapes hanging from vines that spilled over a garden wall. “Mmmm, what a find!” she thought as she licked her lips. She could already taste the refreshing burst of flavour on her tongue. But the grapes were too high and she couldn’t get at them.

Again and again, she jumped, straining her body toward them, but her jaws caught only warm air, while her claws scraped fruitlessly against the brick. She paced beneath the vines trying to think of a solution, glaring at the grapes, angry they had chosen to grow beyond her reach.

A passing mouse noticed her agitation and asked: “What is bothering you, dear fox?” The fox jumped, once again, this time in surprise. “Those grapes up there, that’s what,” she explained. “I want them, but I can’t get them.” “Oh, I think I can help you with that,” said the mouse.

The mouse led the fox to the foot of the wall where the ground was littered with grapes that had fallen from the vine. The fox wrinkled her nose. The fruit was dirty, trampled, rotten. “What are you showing me?” she asked. “Grapes,” said the mouse. “You said you wanted grapes?”

The fox scowled. “I want those grapes up there,” she said. “I was hoping you’d show me how to get them. Or maybe climb up and nibble them free.” “But why go to all that trouble?” the mouse replied. “There are grapes right in front of us. And those up there will be sour.”

Just then, a bird alighted on the vines. The fox watched as it began to peck at the glistening fruit, squeezing the flesh in its beak, carrying it away and coming back for more. The fox quivered with envy at the sight. Drool trickled down her chin. Her stomach growled.

“You’re right,” she said, turning to the mouse, who was busy nibbling on some mouldy skin. “The grapes up there must still be sour. Better to take what is at hand. I think I’ll have mouse for my dinner instead.”

© Richard Parkin, 2021