I scamper around at your feet, the pine needles prickling at my paws. The distant sound of cars hum and mumble on a near to far off road. Birds mutter mutedly in the larch. I start my ascent. Your mossy coat is spongy and damp: easy to cling to with my claws. Round and round your stump I clamber, skip and spin. Oops, a greasy patch of slippery bare wood – nearly got me! Up and up, dodging between your twigs and leaves. A branch - inviting and tempting. Leading onwards…outwards…an adventure…

Your orange canopy gives a sunlit glow, belying the grey autumnal day above. Tentatively forward. A slight breeze followed by a gentle shower of larch needles – they must remind us of their presence. Dominance. Further on: a fork, which way? Small and thin, or longer and bushy? I hear the birds again, but of my kind I am alone. Drips. Cold - down my neck, through my fur.

An alarm call! But not for me, another creatures fear, not mine. Stealthily, forward on a creaking branch…was this the wisest choice? Thinner and thinner and thinner it becomes. But the time to jump, the time to decide is approaching.

Darker.

A thicker cloud? Rain coming? Still the cars rumble by. The river roars a continuous background to my forest world. So, a jump. The branch bounces beneath my feet. Three…two…one…deep breath…