The Otter and the Hedgehog

Martha Hudson had a garden. It wasn't a big one, just a thin strip of land between her house and the neighbour's. She had just enough room for her bins and a small flowerbed. One morning she encountered slimy trails on her kitchen floor tiles, and decided that she'd try to attract a hedgehog or two. She didn't agree with all of these chemicals people put out these days.

The corner shop had dog food and she bought a six-pack of tins. She put some newspaper out, and then two bowls, one with water and one with the dog food. She placed them so she could see who was there from the soft light of the kitchen window. She hoped she would attract a hedgehog and not a fox.

She went to bed shortly after ten, but there was no sign of any animals outside. And in the morning the dog food remained untouched. Martha wasn't one for giving up, so she covered the bowl of dog food with cling film and placed it in the fridge. That evening she put it out again.

Martha was drinking her last mug of tea before bed two nights later, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, when she saw it. A hedgehog, a ball of spikes on little legs, cautiously approached the newspaper and two bowls upon it. It sniffed the newspaper first, its tiny nose twitching, before it sniffed its way over to the bowl of dog food. It took a careful nibble, and then started taking bites as big as it could manage.

She watched until she'd finished her tea and washed out her mug before she at last switched off the kitchen light, leaving the garden in darkness. She went to bed with a little smile upon her face.

The hedgehog came and went over the next few nights and Martha kept putting out food for it. The slug trails had disappeared from the kitchen too, so that was a relief. She didn't need to keep feeding the hedgehog any more now that it had done its job – but she found herself putting out the bowl of dog food again that night. She'd grown attached the little thing.

If I'm going to keep feeding it I'm going to have to name it, she thought to herself as she watched the hedgehog lap up some of the water. As she lay in bed trying to fall asleep, her imagination didn't extend beyond Spike.

In the end the hedgehog decided for her. The following morning, Martha went out to inspect the bowls as she always did. There was a damp patch on the newspaper over John Travolta's face.

She'd been kept up late that night, on the phone to one of her nephews. He didn't half go on a bit. She yawned, her eyes bleary, as she went into the kitchen to make herself some tea. She flicked the light on and John was already there. She was waiting for the kettle to boil when she noticed something was wrong. John wasn't eating, just huddled up against the food bowl and shivering.

She didn't hesitate – she went outside into the drizzle and bent over to peer closer at the little hedgehog. John tried to get away, but he was limping and didn't get very far. She hoped he hadn't been fighting. She should call someone, but it was very late and she wasn't sure if anyone would come. She hurried into the house again and found a suitable box, and cushioned it with a towel.

Outside, John had returned to shivering beside the dog food bowl, and he didn't try to run this time. Martha carefully picked him up, and he curled himself into a little spiky ball in her warm hands. She'd left the box on the kitchen table and she carefully placed John in it. He was still curled into a ball when Martha sat down at the table to drink her steaming tea. She'd gone outside in the rain without a coat on and so her cardigan was wet and cold. She brought the portable heater over to share with John. She sat and relaxed for a few minutes, thinking of the lovely warm bed she'd soon be getting into.

She watched silently as John uncurled himself and sniffed at his new surroundings. He'd probably appreciate the guest towels better than the guests would anyway.

Martha took John to the vet's the following morning. They were very kind to him and bandaged his leg up, and took Martha's telephone number down so they could release him back into the wild in the place he came from. And they confirmed that he was a he.

When she went home, she found – unsurprisingly – that the dog food hadn't been touched overnight. But the water bowl had been spilled. Maybe it was some birds, or a cat. She shrugged and thought no more of it. No point in putting the bowls out when little John was at the vet's. She rang the vet's up every afternoon for updates on John.

A nice man from the vet's surgery came around one evening about a week later. The bandage was off John's leg and although he still had a bit of a limp he should be alright back in the wild. Martha didn't know whether to take the fact that her tiny garden was called the wild as a compliment or not. The man crouched down near the flowerbed and opened the pet carrier's door. Martha didn't crouch, just watched while she stood behind him. John took his time coming out but eventually he did, hiding in the tiny section of hedge at that end of the garden. Martha invited the nice man in for some tea but he politely declined.

Each night after John was returned to the garden, he ate a little more of the dog food she put out for him. But what surprised her was that each and every night the water bowl was spilled. She decided to stay up a little later one night to solve the mystery for herself. She alternated between standing at the sink and sitting in a chair by the door. She drank quite a lot of tea.

John arrived around midnight. Martha almost missed him; her head drooping as she nearly fell asleep. She shook herself and moved from the chair to stand at the sink while she boiled the kettle again. Then she saw it: a dark shape. It had been under the hedge, but it was too big to be a hedgehog and not nearly as spiky. It was too low-set and long to be a cat either. She watched, still and silent, as the thing approached little John. John was still nibbling at his food and didn't pay their visitor any attention at all, even when it stopped right beside him.

Martha squinted at the shape for a moment before it clicked in her brain that it was an otter. The otter proceeded to climb up onto the water bowl and dip its tummy in the water. It stayed like that for a few minutes, spread-eagled over the water bowl, John not even bothering to lift his head from his food in this other animal's presence, before the otter moved forwards, dragging its tail though the water. Then it started nudging the water bowl with its nose. It sloshed water over John who stopped eating only to shake the water off.

Martha had to smile. John was a brave little hedgehog, she'd give him that. While she drank what she decided would be her last cup of tea before she went to bed at last, she pondered what she was going to do next. She'd only wanted to attract a hedgehog, not a big otter like this one. Otters most likely didn't keep the slugs out of her house and flowerbeds either.

She was making tuna pasta for her dinner the next night, and found she had some tuna left over. With a little shrug she put the tuna on an old saucer and set it out beside the bowls for John. Sure enough, the next morning the saucer was licked clean, and the water spilt again. She was almost out of dog food for John, so that afternoon she went to the corner shop for some more – only to find she'd arrived home with a few tins of tuna too.

For the next few nights, John and his otter friend came around to visit. The otter was very happy with the offerings of tuna and water, while John was still content to nibble at his dog food – and best of all, his limp was gone altogether. Without realising it, it seemed Martha had started up some sort of animal sanctuary. Not that she was complaining – it was quite nice to have something to look after.

She was putting out fresh newspaper for her boys one evening when one of the headlines caught her eye. 'Otter Missing From London Zoo,' it read. It was only a short paragraph, so no wonder she'd missed it when she'd been reading the paper the first time round. Apparently the otter that was calling her garden a second home was named Sherlock, after the detective from those books. She had to chuckle to herself then; she had her very own Sherlock and John. In the zoo Sherlock lived alone as he didn't seem to get along with any of the other otters.

There was a phone number as well, and Martha worried her bottom lip as she wondered what to do. She'd let Sherlock finish his tuna tonight, then she'd ring the zoo in the morning. It was the right thing to do.

Because it was most likely the last time she'd see John and Sherlock together in her garden, Martha stayed up late to watch them play. Well, Sherlock played while John either watched or ignored him.

The people at the zoo were thrilled to hear that Sherlock the otter was okay, and they said they would send someone round to find him later. She got a phone call back shortly after four o'clock saying that Sherlock was safe and back in his enclosure. He'd dug behind some stones and found a drainpipe that he'd used to make his escape. But they'd fixed it and he shouldn't be getting out again.

She put the two bowls out for John that night, but in the morning they were untouched. The same happened for the next three nights until John made an appearance again. But she could tell by his manner he wasn't happy. He wasn't eating with the same enthusiasm he'd had when Sherlock was beside him.

She went to the zoo the next afternoon she could. Sherlock was floating upside down in his little stream, but he wasn't very happy looking either. His enclosure was built into a mound of earth. It was very spacious. There was a stream along the bottom at waist level so visitors could watch Sherlock swim and play. But there wasn't much playing happening.

That night she had a plan. She put John's food in the box she kept him in when he'd hurt his leg. She had cut a hole in the side so he could get in easily. Then she waited for him to arrive. When he did eventually go into the box, Martha picked it up and brought it inside. She had a pet carrier ready for him with a nice comfortable towel. She picked him up very carefully as he'd curled into a spiky ball in his confusion at what was happening.

The zoo was long closed by now, so she'd have to wait until morning. She left a tiny portion of dog food on a saucer in the pet carrier for John to eat if he felt like it. He was smaller than she remembered him being the last time he'd been in her kitchen. He wasn't eating properly now that he felt lonely. Martha felt bad for catching him like this, but the poor thing was wasting away. She had to do something.

In the morning she made her way to the zoo by taxi. She arrived just as the gates were being opened for visitors. She walked in confidently, the pet carrier carefully disguised as a handbag. There was a hedge all around the perimeter of the zoo and Sherlock lived on the western edge. There was a hedge that ran into his enclosure. He was having a morning swim when she arrived and took no notice of her.

Martha set the pet carrier down just outside the wall of Sherlock's enclosure, facing the hedge. John darted out of the carrier and ran to the cover of the hedge. She was glad to see some slimy trails on the wall so she knew John wouldn't go hungry. Sherlock had perked up, come over to investigate what she was doing. She hoped that even if they couldn't see each other, Sherlock and John might be able to hear or smell each other and be comforted by the other's presence.

She didn't see John in her garden again after that.

The End

Author's Note: I have never been to London at all so I took some creative liberties with the geography, sorry. Sherlock's enclosure is based on the one in Belfast Zoo, which is awesome because the otters are level with you. Anyway, yes, I thought this idea was cute and it's been suck in my head forever. It feels good to write it down at last. Thanks for reading! :)