The problem, when you are caked in potato peelings and living behind some bins with some rats and some mice and a badger that's got an unrealistically inflated opinion of itself, is that you tend to lose touch with reality. For instance, I had no idea that sightings of me had sparked wild stories about a strange, previously unknown creature at large in the town. Neither did I know that these stories had attracted the interest of the famous cryptozoologist Sir Digby Everest.
I say 'famous', what I actually mean is 'reasonably well known in certain circles'. Cryptozoology is a lot like zoology, except the animals aren't real, and therefore there isn't so much mucking out. It's all about going out to far flung exotic places to look for mythical creatures previously unknown to science, and then not finding them but having quite a nice holiday nonetheless. These cryptos are usually funded by a combination of public donations and publisher's advances, and Sir Digby is probably the most well-known. He has published many books, including an account of his expedition to Indonesia, where he didn't find the ring-tailed sabre-toothed bear, his voyage around the Indian Ocean in futile pursuit of the great white squid, and several volumes detailing his frequent failure to locate the Loch Ness monster. His most recent bestseller is a harrowing account of not finding the Mongolian death worm - an objective predictably doomed to failure, since lack of funds meant that he was looking for it in Bolton.
However, it wasn't long before a little bird told me that Sir Digby was hot on my trail. I say a little bird, I actually mean a fat pigeon called Pecky Patinkin. I don't normally hang out with pigeons, you understand, but sometimes it's handy to have eyes on the street. Sir Digby was out there, all right, and slowly and surely, he drew his plans against me.