by RJ Blain
I stopped making noises and scurried on my way, navigating through the city with the warmth in my chest as a guide. I understood what the lights where streets met meant, and I bided my time, waiting for the two-leggers to cross the roads so I wouldn’t end up flattened by one of their cars.
Two-leggers puzzled me. They packed everything so close to together, pretending scant trees planted in the middle of their walking paths somehow brought them closer to nature. Then, rejecting their glass, steel, and stone gathering places, their nests were skirted by lawns with proper trees, but they insisted on keeping their noisy, smelly cars close to where they nested.
The deeper I ventured into where the two-leggers lived, the more I liked it. Snow covered the grass, and the nests were often separated by tracks of forest. The road I followed ended, and a smaller asphalt trail disappeared into the trees. I sniffed, pleased over how little of the city’s stench I could detect.
With no other options, I followed the smaller trail, leaving prints in the untouched snow. It led to the largest nest I’d seen so far, surrounded by a white fence. Curiosity drove me into climbing up on top to discover what the nest’s owner wanted to hide.
The snow fell harder, but instead of sticking to the ground, it melted into a large pond surrounded by flat, concrete stones. I tilted my head and chittered my puzzlement. Why would a two-legger hide a pond behind a fence?
A memory surfaced, and the subtle differences between a pond and a pool elicited an annoyed chitter out of me. Both had water, so what did it matter if it was a pool or a pond? I scampered my way down, twitching my tail as I crept closer.
The presence of water lured me closer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had anything to drink. Water was water, and I wasted no time hopping my way to where the flat stones met the pool’s edge.
I dug my tiny claws into the concrete and stretched out as far as I could in my effort to reach the surface. I lost my hold, squawked my dismay, and plunged in head first.
Chapter Two
Squirrels sucked at swimming.
I made it work, somehow, although I wanted to gnaw off my tail and be rid of it; the bushy fur soaked up water and threatened to drown me. My winter coat weighed me down, too. Scrambling at the slick side of the pool, I struggled to secure my grip and climb out.
It was then my uncooperative memory decided to inform me squirrels liked drowning in pools, leaving their floating bodies for two-leggers to find. I also remembered only neglectful two-leggers left their pool open in the middle of the winter.
At least the water wasn’t as cold as I thought it should be.
Not only did squirrels suck at swimming, they were stupid, too. Why had I thought it would be a good idea to get a drink from a pool? The water tasted terrible, and by the time I figured out how to stay afloat, too much of it had gone down my throat. To make matters worse, the pool had a current, one that threatened to sweep me away from the steep edge.
Fortunately, I remembered two-leggers had a way of climbing out of pools, and if I could find where they escaped the water, there was a chance I could, too. I lunged for the ledge and caught my claws on the concrete so I could rest without my head submerging.
Screaming because things weren’t going my way wouldn’t help, but I did it anyway. I shrieked my fury until I panted for breath. The falling snow obscured my vision; I couldn’t see the far end of the pool, which frightened me almost as much as the thought of drowning.
Huffing curses over my inability to pull myself up and out of the water despite having caught hold of the concrete, I considered my options. Did other squirrels recognize there were ways out of the pool, or did they ineffectively try to scramble out where they had fallen in?
Since drowning as a squirrel wasn’t how I wanted my life to end, I let go and swam along the edge, seeking a better place to escape the water. When I needed to rest, I scrambled at the side until I caught hold of an imperfection in the concrete, dangling from my claws while I caught my breath.
It took far too long to locate the steps. The top one was several inches below the surface, which gave me a chance to sit and recover. Gathering myself, I jumped for freedom, smacked into the concrete, and slid into the water. Spluttering, I shook myself and tried again. The water weighed down my fur while the falling snow and cold air stiffened my muscles.
Determined to escape, I crouched so low my nose submerged before launching myself at the ledge. My forepaws and chest hit the edge, and with a triumphant squeak, I scrambled for purchase.
“What the hell?”
The words startled me so much I let go, sliding backwards into the pool. A two-legger had somehow approached without me noticing, and moments after I landed in the water with a splash, he plucked me out, holding me in a firm grip around my back and front paws.
The two-legger didn’t hurt me. Hanging in the air beat drowning in the water, so I kept still, gasping until my lungs no longer burned. My nose confirmed the two-legger was a male, but I couldn’t tell anything more than that. The snow clung to my wet fur, and I shuddered from the wintry chill.
The two-legger made soothing noises and carried me away from the pool towards his nest. When he opened the door, heat washed over me, and while I still shivered, my body relaxed.
“Never thought I’d actually see a live squirrel in my pool,” the two-legger said.
I found it curious his words had meanings I understood. I hadn’t been able to understand other squirrels beyond a basic realization they didn’t want me in their territory.
The nest smelled pleasant, filled with scents I recognized but couldn’t name. I liked them, which put me at ease despite nearly drowning and my subsequent captivity. Squirrels didn’t belong in pools, and it was a lesson I wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
I hoped.
The two-legger carried me into a large, tiled room, setting me on top of a gleaming counter. He stared at me, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, exactly, am I supposed to do with a half-drowned squirrel?”
What use was a squirrel to a two-legger? His nest warmed me, and while I could have fled, I sat still and waited, watching his every move. He pulled a device out of a pocket, something I recognized.
My unwilling memory regurgitated the device’s name: a phone. The tapping the two-legger was doing on the screen was dialing, and the phone would let him communicate with others of his kind.
Why couldn’t my memory provide me with useful information?
“Hey. I just rescued a squirrel out of my pool. I didn’t want it to freeze to death, so I brought it in the house. Any idea what I should do with it?”
There was a long moment of silence, then the two-legger snorted. “No. It seems friendly enough, and it’s flopped on my counter looking sorry for itself. Hasn’t even tried to run away since I put it down. No, it hasn’t bitten me. I’ll try to avoid that. I don’t need rabies on top of everything else. What do I feed it?”
I hoped two-legger food would appeal more than squirrel food did. Once I wasn’t dripping all over the place while half frozen, maybe I could figure out a way to communicate with the male. Was he a man? I wasn’t sure, but he seemed friendly enough.
I waited, wishing I could hear the full conversation between the two-leggers.
“I thought you knew everything. Fine. I’ll look it up on the internet. Any news from the meteorologists about the storm?” After a moment, the two-legger sighed. “That’s what I figured. Keep me in the loop. Go ahead and notify employees they should stay home tomorrow. Have the mandatory staff work from home if possible. This is going to get worse before it gets better, especially without…”
Grief had a scent, and the two-legger reeked of it. I wondered how I knew emotions had a smell and why I was so familiar with the scent of grief.
When I thought he’d remain quiet, he sighed again, shrugged, and said, “If I was in the office, I wouldn’t have the time to fish half-dead squirrels out of my pool. If you learn anything new, call me.”
&
nbsp; The two-legger returned his phone to his pocket. “Looks like it’s you and me tonight. If I show up at the office uninvited, they’re going to put me in handcuffs and toss me in a cellar somewhere until I learn to do as I’m told. I’m supposed to be the boss.” The scent of the two-legger’s grief strengthened. “Let’s get you dried off and warmed up, then I’ll figure out what to give you for supper.”
Since biting the hand about to feed me classified as idiocy of the highest order, I kept my teeth to myself and submitted to the indignation of being handled by a two-legger.
The two-legger found my existence amusing, and when I didn’t try to bite him, protest his gentle handling, or otherwise show any sign of aggression, he placed me on his shoulder. I clasped his shirt with my claws so I wouldn’t fall, careful to avoid his thin skin.
Smart squirrels kept the two-legger able to open the refrigerator door happy, and if he wanted me to ride on his shoulder, I wouldn’t object.
His shoulder was warm, I liked the smell of his hair, and he was pleasant enough despite his tendency to pace around his nest. I shuffled closer to him, curling my tail around his neck.
The two-legger pulled out his phone again and put it to his ear. “Hey, Richard. Any news?”
Once again, the two-legger smelled of grief, and I didn’t like it.
“No news here, either. I was kicked out of the office and got told if I went in tomorrow, they’d take steps. One of the steps involved handcuffs. It’s been three weeks. If they think I’m going to sit around and do nothing while my brother and—” The two-legger sighed. “Yes, I have the locations and copies of the operation charts. I managed to copy them before I got kicked out of the office. No, I didn’t tell anyone I was taking them. Yes, I’ve been making sure to ask others to handle pulling files and records from those databases for the past week. Yes, I modified the access logs to cover my trail. If you can convince Alex to keep watch over Yellowknife, I’ll get on the horn with Desmond and get him on the move.”
The two-legger returned to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator long enough to grab a piece of red fruit, which he dropped on a cutting board. Selecting a knife, he went to work slicing it. He offered me a piece, and sniffing the air, I detected a tart sweetness. I grabbed it in my paws and nibbled on it.
My tongue triggered a memory. The fruit was an apple. I took a bigger bite, and the two-legger made a satisfied noise in his throat. “Good. No pissing contests on this one, Richard. I’m paying. Get your ass in the air and park your bird at one of the Inquisition airfields outside of the storm zone. I’ll send you the information.”
The two-legger blinked, lowered his phone, and stared at the display. “Well, shit. I didn’t get a chance to ask him if he knew what squirrels ate.”
I bit down on my apple so I wouldn’t drop it and jumped from his shoulder to the counter. Sitting beside the cutting board, I stuffed as much of the fruit into my mouth as I could and grabbed a second slice.
“It’s all yours. Don’t choke on it.” The two-legger wandered away, once again putting his phone to his ear to call someone. While he was gone, I ate my apple, stuffing so much down my throat my stomach bulged. Groaning, I flopped on the counter.
When the two-legger returned, he had a wicker basket in one hand and a throw blanket in the other. He set the basket on the island, stuffed the blanket inside, and picked me up. “I wasn’t going to steal your apple. I’ll go to a pet store tomorrow and buy you food, but I’ve been told my choice of apple was tolerably acceptable for tonight. Who knew squirrels had such specialized diets? For now, you’ll live here.”
The two-legger set me on top of the blanket and hesitated before patting my head. When I stayed still, he stroked his hand along my back. “Try not to destroy my house.”
I burrowed into the blanket, which smelled like him. My memories associated a similar scent to his as comfort and security, so I made myself at home. If the two-legger was a man, he seemed like a nice one, even though he didn’t know anything about squirrels.
Then again, neither did I, and I meant to keep it that way.
After I rested, I would explore the two-legger’s nest and learn everything I could about him.
The two-legger spent a great deal of time pacing his nest. When night fell and everything grew quiet, I climbed out of the basket, jumped to the floor, and explored. Dim lights illuminated the nest, barely bright enough to see by. The hardwood floors were slick beneath my paws, and I found evidence of a creature with far larger claws than mine inhabiting the place, scarring the wood. I sniffed the air.
Of the scents in the nest, the two-legger’s was the strongest, although I could detect a second, spiced smell lingering in the air, old but persistent, as though it somehow clung to everything in its determination to remain.
I located the two-legger’s main nest and jumped up to join him. The lingering spice scent was weakest in this room, and I sniffed the air. A fresh hint of it marked the two-legger, and I scampered closer. He slept, hidden beneath a plush blanket while his head rested on a pale pillow.
Even in sleep, grief marred his scent. I reached out with a paw, careful to keep my claws lifted so I wouldn’t scratch him. His cheek warmed me, and I hopped closer, giving him a tentative nudge with my nose.
He remained asleep.
I curled alongside his throat, tucked beneath his chin. Dozing in the basket while waiting for the nest to quiet had revitalized me, so instead of sleeping, I guarded him. The dim glow from the other room offered enough light to make out shapes in the darkness. I wouldn’t bite my two-legger, but if anyone came close while I watched over him, I would introduce them to my teeth and claws.
Whatever I was, I savored the thought of protecting what I viewed as mine. I didn’t care what the two-legger thought about it, either.
Samantha would’ve been proud of me. One day, maybe I’d remember why.
Someone was in my two-legger’s nest.
The creaking of a door alerted me to the presence of the intruder, and I lifted my head, squeaking my alarm. My two-legger jerked, snorted, and mumbled something unintelligible before quieting.
I chittered another warning, hopping to my paws with my fur standing on end.
The soft padding of feet drew closer. I twitched my tail, digging my claws into the bedding. I had no memory of falling asleep, but the sun had risen. My two-legger slept on, oblivious to the intruder in his nest.
Another two-legger stepped through the doorway. I bristled and screamed a warning.
My two-legger jerked upright, knocking me aside. I squawked and tumbled across the bed, scrambling to get my paws beneath me.
“When you told me you’d taken in a squirrel, I wasn’t expecting you to be sleeping with her,” a deep voice rumbled.
My two-legger groaned and flopped onto his back, grabbing his blanket. He burrowed before grumbling, “What do you want, Richard?”
“There are a bunch of people who were expecting you to start calling them two or three hours ago. When I showed up at your office, they were working themselves into a panic since you weren’t answering your phone. I volunteered to come over and check on you.” The two-legger named Richard crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s unlike you to sleep so late.”
“Squirrel did it,” my two-legger replied before rolling over.
I twisted my ears back and regretted my decision to keep my teeth to myself.
“Your rescued squirrel did it?”
“Soft and warm.”
“When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”
My two-legger grunted. “Don’t ask.”
“All right. Why don’t I make you coffee while you get up? You’re about ten minutes from having an army of Inquisitors crawling all over your property if you don’t convince them you’re safe and sound. Maybe answer your phone, eh?”
Stifling a groan, my two-legger fumbled for the nightstand. “I don’t get what they’re complaining about. Daniel
le told me she was going to have me handcuffed and locked up if I showed up for work today.”
“Trust me when I say everyone is shocked, appalled, and alarmed you listened. Just give them a call. What are you feeding your squirrel?”
“There are apples in the fridge. You said it’s a she?”
“Unless you brought some other females around no one knows about, your squirrel is a girl.”
“Go away, Richard,” my two-legger ordered.
The intruder chuckled but obeyed.
“Alphas.” Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, my two-legger fiddled with the device. Within moments, it rang. “Anderson,” he answered.
I hopped onto my two-legger’s pillow and scolded the unseen caller in chitters. With a soft laugh, my two-legger reached up with his free hand and stroked my back. “Yes, Danielle. I was sleeping and had my phone silenced. Richard woke me.”
I squeaked and chittered, twitching my tail in my agitation over being ignored.
“That’s my squirrel.” For the first time since meeting my two-legger, the grief in his scent eased, replaced by a more pleasant, warmer smell. “Yes, I’ve taken complete leave of my senses and brought a wild animal into my home. She’d fallen into my pool. I wasn’t just going to let her drown. Anyway, I let Richard in, didn’t I?”
“I heard that,” Richard boomed from somewhere else in the nest.
“Yes, I knew Richard was coming into town. Yes, he’s invited. No, you don’t have to send anyone over. I think I can handle a single Canadian on my own. I’m sure he’s had his shots.” My two-legger sighed. “Any updates?”
The grief returned to his scent. “Call me if you learn anything.”
After hanging up, my two-legger lurched upright and rubbed at his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his muscles flexed with his movement. He staggered to his feet and swayed unsteadily before crossing the room to grab a white bathrobe draped over his dresser.
While I lacked confidence in claiming I was supposed to be a two-legger like him, I appreciated his lean, furless body, and I was disappointed when he covered himself, securing his bathrobe with its sash.