Renard the Recycler

I was woken at 2am this morning by the sound of someone moving the bins at the front of my house, followed by a stealthy hissing sound, not unlike a spray can being deployed. Hesitantly I peered from my bedroom window (directly above my front door), to see a very large and healthy fox sorting through the food recycling bin, the contents of which were lavishly spread across the pavement. Clearly it had found a way to undo the bin's fox-proof handle, which I distinctly remember putting in place yesterday afternoon.

It looked up at me. "Can you be bothered to come and chase me?"

"No really," I replied in the same language. This too was recycling of a kind, after all. And clearing up the pavement this morning I was most impressed with how thorough it had been. The only things spurned were an eggshell, a squeezed lemon, and the butt end of an iceberg lettuce. The pork ribs and the rejected cat food were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Bristol city council should employ foxes in preference to Viridor?