Humans are vermin not foxes.
I’ll second that, they’ve never harmed me nor mine, Rotherhithe supports a gazillion foxes, in the evening and through the night if you drive around Brunel Road/Salter Road, you’ll see them loping around, with that expression on their faces, “Don’t interrupt me, places to go and people to see.”
We live in a three storey town house, our kitchen is on the first floor, at the back, and a sliding door opens on to the extended balcony, which has a metal staircase to the back garden.
Most mornings, when I slide back the kitchen door, our resident fox, Arthur, is sound asleep under the table where we have coffee and bagels in good weather.
His tail will flicker, in recognition that hey, it’s Jean, he’s cool, and it’s a good bet that he’ll have some bacon rinds for me, but if my wife opens the door, he hightails it out of there, even though she loves him to bits, and wouldn’t dream of harming him.
Maybe Arthur thinks, “man good, woman not so much”, or maybe wherever he hung out before, the lady of the house shouted at him.