A squirrel lost her footing.

It was three in the afternoon and it had been a long day.

Scurrying from branch to branch. Tea with Esther. Hang the washing out. Pick the kids up from school. See the dentist about that damn tooth. And those bloody nuts won’t bury themselves.

What she needed, Esther said, was a spa day.

And Esther was right.

But the squirrel lost her footing while rushing to pick up the cake for Cheryl’s birthday before the shop closed.

And she fell off a tall branch, hit her head on a conker, and tumbled straight under the tyre of a Citroen C3 Picasso.