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Mrs. Foxx stepped onto the dirt floor, tripped over her tail and immediately fell face first onto the floor.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Foxx thought as she picked herself up, “I hope this tail won’t get in the way later.” She patted herself to remove the rock and granite that had stuck onto her nightgown and walked out of the bedroom.

She looked around the house—or, more accurately, burrow. The dirt walls were lined with holes acting as shelves filled to the brim with old trinkets and photos of foxes in human clothes. The pictures looked like the watercolours she used to paint for authors.

She went to the kitchen to prepare something, just to see her one of her sons by the table drinking some tea. Well, he didn’t look like her son, but she just knew.

The cub looked up from his cup of tea with tired eyes. “’Ey, Mum,” he said as he glanced up. “Yep, that’s definitely Kit,” Mrs. Foxx thought.

“Hullo, Kit,” Mrs. Foxx said, trying to pretend everything was normal. Kit saw past that.

“Mum? Is everything OK?”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Foxx replied hastily.

“Mum, you never respond with ‘yeah’. Are you having one of your… episodes?”

“No. Uhh, I mean yes. Uhh, maybe?” Being more awake, Mrs. Foxx had gotten more skittish and confused.

“You notice anything different?”

“Yeah.”

That brought a sense of relief to Mrs. Foxx as her son had finally perceived the wrongness of today. Until it didn’t.

“That perfume you made’s quite nice.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Foxx muttered just a little bit too loud.

“Mum,” Kit said, “just get some rest while I prepare you some breakfast.” Kit then led his mother into her back into the bedroom again.

Mrs. Foxx flopped onto the bed. Mr. Foxx rolled over to face his wife.

“How’s everything out there, honey?” Mr. Foxx said.

“I talked to one of the kids, and he didn’t notice!” Mrs. Foxx responded.

“Really?” said Mr. Foxx, “Well, if it was Tod, I wouldn’t be surprised. He never speaks up.”

“No, it was Kit.”

“Yep, this is serious now,” Mr. Foxx said, “Let’s see… What did you remember about yesterday?”

“I…”

Mrs. Foxx stopped to ponder. She tried to remember the day before. She thought hard. But she couldn’t. Not a single thing. Just some vague details like her old job of painting watercolours and her dearest family.

“… don’t remember.”

“Really? Let me try.”

Mr. Foxx thought Abd tried to remember even harder. He was so deep in thought his face was scrunched into a funny expression.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Foxx, “are you having a seizure?”

Mr. Foxx finally released that scrunched-up expression of his.

“No, I don’t remember either,” said Mr. Foxx.

“Would you suppose… we have amnesia?”

“Amnesia? Poppycock!” said Mr. Foxx. He very much didn’t like the idea of amnesia, as it made him uneasy.

“Well, there’s no other logical explanation I can think of,” Mrs. Foxx said.

“We are walking, talking foxes,” said Mr. Foxx, “I don’t think this has a logical solution.”

“Then what are we going to do about it?” said Mrs. Foxx.

“I guess we just… deal with it?” Mr. Foxx proposed. Sadly, Mr. Foxx wasn’t a man with many ideas.

“Well, I’m investigating,” said Mrs. Foxx, “God knows if we’re stuck in some storybook.” She promptly sat up, got off the bed and immediately tripped on her own tail again.

“Oh dear, still needs some getting used to,” said Mrs. Foxx.

“Well, good luck!” Mr. Foxx shouted as his wife exited the room.

Chapter 1

Mrs. Foxx always woke up with a start. She liked waking up with a start. That meant she’d be alert.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Foxx, “oh dearie me.”

“What’s the matter, honey?” said Mr. Foxx

Mr. Foxx did not. He liked sleeping. He was a heavy sleeper and usually slept till noon. So to be woken up so early was quite annoying.

“What is it, Lila?” Mr. Foxx asked again.

“Since when were you a fox?”

“Dear, I’ve always been a Foxx. One too many cuppas, eh?”

“No, I only had one.”

Mr. Foxx finally got up, only to see two tawny feet and a bushy, tawny tail tipped with white poking out of the sheets.

“Oh, dear. It seems like I am,” he said, in a calm tone which was highly unusual for a man who’d suddenly awoken in the body of a fox, “and it seems you are too. This sure is a curious dream.”

“I don’t think this is a dream,” said Mrs. Foxx with a slight hint of worry in her voice, “This feels awfully real.”

“Well,” said Mr. Foxx, “I suppose I’ll go back to sleep and hope this goes away.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Foxx in a jokingly mocking way, “I suppose I’ll make some breakfast in case this doesn’t go away.”

“Well,” said Mr. Foxx, “let’s see about that,” before slumping back into bed.

(META: I am afraid the chapter might be a bit too short. Also, I’m not trying to rip off Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl.)