"Hawks" - "Foxes". It's logical mindspin.

Here's a poem from that book that you might like, kat. It's by a lady called Kath Dinsdale, who was dying in St John's Hospice Lancaster when she was prompted into writing it, after she'd said how she couldn't write poetry:

Grandma's Cat

I remember Grandma's cat
he was called Sooty
he was black
he used to sleep on the piano
on the keyboard
so I couldn't play it
he fell asleep on my half-made jigsaws
he would spit at me when I tried to move him
he could be very friendly when I was eating
he'd rub around my legs purring
trying to scrounge himself a little of my meal for himself.

I used to try to smuggle him up to my bedroom
so he'd be there for company during the night
I could only manage if the terms were right for him.

It's funny that they should have cared about one another,
Sooty and Grandma.

She would have given everything to make you happy.
He would have taken the lot.