Before going out the other night, I headed into the living room, whose door I keep closed so my beagle-y mutt Casey can’t get in and dig at the rug. As soon as I entered, I glimpsed a twitch of a bushy tail by the window. It was a squirrel clinging to the curtain rod! Funny how, when a pointy nosed rodent with an acorn in its mouth scoots past you on its way up a tree, you never even think, “Hm, there goes a squirrel.” But change the venue to your living room and both you and the squirrel and your beagle, if you have one, go skittering around in a panic.
I grabbed a broom that happened to be nearby in the front hall, imagining I could sweep the rodent back to its natural habitat. Then I sprinted upstairs to get Casey, who was in my bedroom, so I could make sure he wouldn’t go chasing the squirrel around like crazy the way he once did with a deer in our backyard. Now that I’d gotten Casey downstairs, I realized I had exacerbated the likelihood of a chase scene. Moreover, I hadn’t thought to close the living room door or the bedroom door and when I dashed back to the living room, the squirrel was gone. Yikes, it could be anywhere in the house! How would I possibly sleep, knowing there might be a squirrel in my bedroom? I pictured awakening to it’s fur brushing my cheek, it’s claws dancing on my neck while it noshed on my nose.
My fight or flight instinct was to dart around the house, banging furniture with the filthy broom–debris flying everywhere–yelling “Squir-rel! Squir-rel!” But no bushy tail made itself known.
Casey’s fight or flight response was to poop on the living room rug, just as he did when nerves got the better of him amid a ring of senior citizens when he visited their retirement home as therapy dog.
Worst of all, I was late for a meeting and had to leave. I imagined the squirrel scratching Casey’s sweet, soulful-eyed face into a bloody pulp and Casey responding by eating the squirrel and me coming home to two carcasses in a puddle of blood, as though a duel had taken place in which both participants had pulled the trigger at the exact same moment.
Adrenaline must have helped me come up with the idea of putting Casey in his crate. Then, as I was about to go, I heard “scratch, scratch” coming from under the living room couch. Calmer now, I propped open the door to the outside and jiggled the couch. In one sweeping motion the squirrel flew across the room, out the door and up a nearby tree.
Now that it’s back to its regular life, I’m grateful to my squirrel for the visit. The little intruder turned an ordinary night into a story.
PS The squirrel in the photos is named Julie. She lliterally latched onto her “owner,” while he was playing golf and he took her home. He sought help and the person he found, who had several pet squirrels of his own, was Bernard Goetz, the subway vigilante.
[...] I play Words, I go into such hyper-focus that I wouldn’t even notice if a squirrel were in the house, especially if I were struggling–as I am now–to find a 7-letter word that does not end [...]
[...] that nano-burst of juice, yet I find it impossible not to fill my cheeks, till they bulge like a squirrel’s, with a whole fruits-worth of [...]
[...] I realize the deer ticks must be having a carnival back there, but I’m not too worried about that. Casey, who used to run in the backyard, has lost privileges because he rolls around in the deer droppings and eats things too gross to mention. Also he once got loose and chased a deer. [...]
[...] That said, I gave up my daily journal writing years ago, due to generating too many ideas. The more I write, the more ideas spring up, ideas to paint a huge wooden CURB YOUR DOG sign with a stake to drive into my front lawn, ideas for a come as you are potluck party, ideas to volunteer Casey as a therapy dog (which we did until he got anxious and pooped on a rug amid a ring of senior citizens). [...]
Poor Casey! But cute story…and squirrel!
Thanks! Casey has a good life. You’ll be able to read more about him soon on Huffington Post, my upcoming article.