A stiff breeze from the West making the rigging whistle and the gentle bumping at the turn of the tide meant I didn't hear my visitor last night. Practically certain it's the Vixen who has her den in an overgrown deserted corner of the boatyard. Down the muddy river bank, a wander round my nice clean deck and a drink from the fresh water in the black bucket (middle photo). Even a peep down the forehatch at me flaked out in my bunk and then off ashore...could have wiped her paws at least..
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