As the warm water washed away the muck and grime, I was stunned by what emerged. The creature in my tub was not a puppy but a baby fox! Its russet fur began to show, and those large, alert eyes peered up at me with curiosity and trust. My mind raced, wondering how I could have mistaken this wild creature for a domestic one. The fox’s nose twitched, and it let out a soft, high-pitched bark, as if to confirm its identity.

I stood there, a mix of shock and awe flooding over me. I had rescued a wild animal, one that surely belonged back in the forest, not in my modest apartment. But here it was, looking up at me with the same innocence I had initially seen in what I thought was a puppy. A part of me was still entranced by its vulnerability, the way it had curled up against me, seeking warmth and shelter.

Despite the revelation, my instinct to protect this little creature didn’t wane. I carefully dried the fox, wrapping it in a fresh towel. It seemed more comfortable now, perhaps sensing my intentions were kind. But reality set in—I knew I couldn’t keep a wild animal as a pet. My apartment was no place for a fox, and I had no idea how to care for one.