The Night of the Sciurus

by Linda Watkins

“Rodents,” he said. “Damnedest thing happened a couple days ago. Marty, that’s my wife – real name’s Martha, but I call her Marty. Well, she was out in the backyard pruning the rose bushes – deadheading and stuff like that. Said she thought she could feel someone staring at her. Thinking it might be me, she turned but all that was there was a squirrel, sitting on top of the fence. Marty said it was the biggest critter she’d ever seen – said it was the size of a tomcat, if you can believe that. Well, she paid it no mind and went back to cutting the roses. But in a minute or two, that creepy-crawly feeling came back and she again turned. That squirrel was now on the ground, not five feet from where she was kneeling. And it was standing on its hind legs, like a human.

  “Marty said that squirrel just stared at her, its eyes shifting back and forth from her face to the hand that held her pruning shears. Said it was like the little varmint was studying her, trying to get a handle on her mettle.”

  “Mettle?” I asked.

  “Yeah, mettle. She said it was like the squirrel wanted to know whether, if push came to shove, she had the cojones to use those shears on him.”

  I raised my eyebrows, taking a closer look at my neighbor. Maybe he was older than I thought, and maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of dementia creeping into his brain. This story about the squirrel was beginning to sound like something a paranoid schizo would dream up, not a fully sane man.

  “So,” he continued, “Marty decided it would be a good idea to call it a day as far as the roses were concerned. She said she quickly got to her feet. That kind of motion would normally scare off a squirrel. But not this one. She said he stayed right where he was, eyes on her and those pruning shears she still held in her hand.”

  “Well, what happened?” I asked, wanting to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

  “Nothing, really. She came inside. After she closed the door, she looked back out at the roses. Everything was fine. That damned squirrel had just disappeared. Like he’d never been there.”

  I smiled. “Maybe she’d just been out in the sun too long. You know heat can sometimes throw you a curve.”

  Henry shook his head. “Not Marty. She’s the most down-to-earth, sensible woman on this planet. If she said that big squirrel was there, then it was.”

  He seemed to be getting a bit agitated so I just nodded. “Well, I’ve got to be getting back inside. Nice to meet you, Henry.”

  I started to walk away but he stopped me. “Marty said after it happened that it was time we bought that place up in Traverse City like we’ve talked about for years. We’re going up there this weekend to look. So, you might be seeing a 'For Sale’ sign on our property in the next week or so.”

  His statement surprised me and reminded me of something that had puzzled me. On our walks with Petey, Tessa and I had been all over the neighborhood and there seemed to me to be a disproportionate number of homes for sale on the adjacent streets. I knew that late spring/early summer was the best time to put a house on the market, but there were just so many of them, it made me wonder.

  “I’ve seen a lot of homes for sale here,” I said. “Is there a reason? Something going on in this town we should know about?”

  Henry chuckled. “No, no reason. Just that time of year. And, a lot of the younger folks – ones around your age – are pretty mobile. They go where the better job is.”

  I smiled. “I guess you’re right. Well, it was nice meeting you.”

  He nodded, then walked back to his house.

  I watched him go, mulling over the squirrel story in my mind. Dementia, for sure.

  4

  A New Family Member

  TIME PASSED AND, before we knew it, it was mid-June. School was out for the summer, so I enrolled Tessa in a seasonal school/camp that would keep her occupied during the day while I worked. I was obligated to drive to Grand Rapids once a week for staff meetings, but the rest of my time was spent locally, telecommuting from home. Babysitters were plentiful in my neighborhood, so rarely was I put in the position of having to take Tessa with me on the job or leave her alone. All in all, things were going very well for us.

  A “For Sale” sign did, indeed, appear on the Jaworskis’ home not long after my conversation with Henry and, about a week later, they moved out, leaving it vacant. The realtor brought in some furniture to stage the property and, most weekends, there was a parade of people going in and out.

  But, none of that bothered us. Our other neighbors all seemed nice and I felt very secure and safe in our new home.

  Not long after, on a pleasant Friday afternoon, I was busy working on the computer. I was finalizing an article about a case of bullying that had occurred at the local high school. We’d had a pretty strong storm the night before and I planned to spend most of the weekend in the yard, cleaning up debris. I was about to take a break when I heard Tessa yelling outside.

  Giving my article a quick save, I hurried to the slider to see what was going on. When I got to the door, I could see Tessa kneeling on the lawn, trying to push Petey away from something that was on the ground in front of her.

  “What’s going on, Tess?” I yelled as I opened the slider.

  “Mommy, Mommy, come quick,” she cried. “Petey’s gonna eat it!”

  “Eat what, sweetie?” I asked as I hurried over to her and grabbed Petey by the collar.

  “It’s a baby,” she whispered. “A little baby squirrel.”

  “A squirrel? Okay, let me get Petey inside. I’ll be right back.”

  I pulled Petey to the house, shut him inside, then returned to Tessa and crouched down next to her. Sitting on the lawn in front of her was a pile of leaves and, in the midst of them, wiggled a baby squirrel.

  “Can I keep it, Mommy?” Tessa asked.

  I took a deep breath, trying to remember what little I knew about wildlife. “No, honey,” I finally answered. “Those leaves are part of its nest. It probably was blown down by the wind last night. The momma squirrel will probably be looking for the baby. I think we should just leave it right here where she can find it.”

  Tears streamed down Tessa’s cheeks. “But Petey’ll get it. And, what if the momma doesn’t come?”

  I sighed. It was a dilemma. I couldn’t keep the dog inside indefinitely, but if he were let out, he would probably kill the little squirrel, breaking Tessa’s heart.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go inside and leave everything as it is. If the momma squirrel doesn’t come in two hours, we’ll figure something out. All right?”

  Tessa frowned and was about to protest, but apparently thought better of it and nodded.

  “Come on,” I said. “She won’t come if we’re here. You can watch through the door.”

  Reconciled to the fact that this was the best she was going to get, Tessa reluctantly left the yard and joined Petey with her nose pressed against the glass slider, waiting.

  I watched them for a few minutes, then went back to work.

  Two hours later, I felt a small hand tugging at my sleeve. “Mommy, she didn’t come.”

  I was so involved in the article I was writing that, for a moment, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what my daughter was talking about. Then she pointed to the door where Petey still stood at attention, staring at the bunch of leaves in the yard beyond.

  The baby squirrel.

  I sighed. “Okay, give me a minute.”

  Tessa put on a pout, but I gave her a stern look and, without protest, she returned to the door and sat down beside the dog.

  Shaking my head, I Googled “baby squirrels” and took a crash course in everything I could learn about them. I jotted down a few notes then called Tessa to me.

  “Go to the basement laundry room and look for that old cage we had for your hamster, Hairy. I think it’s on one of the shelves in the closet. Bring it up here. If that baby is still alive, we’ll put it in the cage. Okay?”

  Tessa’s face broke into a huge grin and, nodding vigorously, she turned and ran down the basement stairs. When she wa
s out of sight, I told the dog to stay, then hurried outside, stopping to grab my leather gardening gloves on the way.

  I was hoping the little rodent was dead. If that were the case, we could have a funeral and be done with it. Of course, Tessa would be angry with me and would probably blame me for the creature’s demise, but I could deal with that.

  I knelt beside the nest, my hopes dashed when I saw the tiny squirrel wiggle. It was alive and making soft mewing sounds as it flailed about with its tiny arms and legs. Its eyes were open and staring at me. I assumed the poor thing was terrified.

  Tentatively, I reached out with my leather-gloved hand and picked it up, and had to admit it was kind of cute in a rodent sort of way.

  I heard the slider open and close.

  “Did you find it?” I yelled at my daughter.

  “Yes, Mommy, and I also found a bag of the shavings we used to put in Hairy’s cage.”

  I smiled at her as she knelt beside me. “Good work. It’s still alive.”

  As I spoke, I held out my hand so she could see the tiny baby.

  “Look,” I explained. “Its eyes are open so it’s not a newborn. I think from the descriptions I read, this baby may be around four to five weeks old.”

  Tessa nodded. “It’s so cute. I’m going to name it Rocky.”

  I frowned and was about to chastise her for giving a name to a creature that was wild and would, I hoped, soon be returned to nature. But the look of joy on her face stopped me.

  “Okay, Rocky it is. But remember, it’s a wild animal so don’t get too attached to it. Now, spread the shavings in the bottom of the cage so we can make this baby a bed. We’re going to keep it in the garage because if it’s in the house, it’ll drive Petey nuts.”

  I watched as Tessa lined the cage and then I gently placed the squirrel inside.

  “Okay, take the cage into the garage. I’m going to look for a light fixture we can place nearby to warm him. Then, we’re going to go to the store and get some feeding supplies.”

  And, thus, we became the proud caretakers of Rocky, the baby squirrel. Over the next few days, my daughter was diligent, spending hours with her new “pet,” feeding and talking to it. I watched all this with amusement, knowing that soon the day would come when we would have to play “born free” with the little rodent and return him to his natural habitat.

  5

  They Call It Wildlife For A Reason

  ABOUT TEN DAYS after the discovery of the abandoned little squirrel, I was busy on the computer working on a proposal for a series about summer at the lakeshore. Tessa was outside in the yard with her new pet. I was just finishing up and about to forward the proposal to my boss, when I heard Petey growl. Surprised, I looked over toward the door. He was standing on point with his nose pressed to the slider. His hackles were up and he seemed intent on something outside.

  Puzzled – English Setters aren’t known for being guard dogs – I walked over to stand beside him. Tessa was sitting on the lawn, rocking back and forth. The cage was beside her, door wide open.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I yelled, opening the door.

  Petey pushed past me and raced across the lawn toward the fence that separated our yard from the neighbors. He was barking furiously.

  Tessa ignored him and continued rocking, her hand pressed to her chest. As I neared her, I could see there was something staining the front of her T-shirt. It took my mind a split second to recognize what it was.

  Blood.

  “Tessa!” I screamed as I knelt on the lawn beside her. “What happened? You’re hurt.”

  She turned her head to stare at me, her eyes wide and full of tears.

  “What happened?” I asked again. “Let me see your hand.”

  Obediently, she reached her hand out toward me. It was covered in blood and more was oozing from a wound near her wrist.

  Frightened, I picked her up in my arms and ran back to the house. I carried her to the master bath where I kept the first aid kit.

  “It’s okay, honey,” I soothed as I held her hand under cold water in an attempt to stop the bleeding. When I turned off the tap, I could see three puncture wounds on her wrist – a bite mark – and blood was continuing flow from it.

  I grabbed a gauze pad and applied pressure to the wound.

  “Hold your hand up above your head,” I instructed Tessa. “That’s good. It looks like it’s beginning to stop.”

  Quickly, before the bleeding could resume, I applied some antiseptic, replaced the soiled gauze pad, and wrapped the wound tightly with self-adhesive tape.

  “We’re going to the hospital, honey,” I said. “You may need stitches.”

  Tessa nodded, put her arm around my waist, and, together, we walked to the garage.

  My daughter appeared to be in shock by the time we arrived at the E.R. On the way, I got her to tell me what had happened. She was playing with Rocky when another squirrel leapt off the fence and approached them. The squirrel, which was full grown, chittered at her and she thought it wanted to play. However, instead, it darted forward and attacked her. After the bite, she said she couldn’t remember anything until I appeared at her side.

  I checked us in and Tessa was taken immediately to a room, where she was examined by a nurse.

  “Squirrel bite, you say? You folks from North Laketon?”

  I looked at her, startled. “Yes, we live in Laketon. How did you know?”

  The nurse frowned. “We’ve been getting more and more of these bites recently. It’s been reported to the county. They’ve got a team of wildlife experts trying to trap some of the little buggers. It’s odd behavior for squirrels. Could be they’re sick.”

  “Sick?” I asked, my heart thudding with fear. “Do you mean like rabies?”

  The nurse nodded. “Could be. Or distemper. Now, I’m going to clean her wound and then the doctor will be in. I don’t think she’ll need stitches, but she’ll probably require rabies’ shots.”

  I think when she said that my eyes must have widened, indicating my fear.

  The nurse smiled. “Don’t worry. They’re not that bad. They haven’t been given in the stomach since the 1980s. She’ll get one shot initially, then have to come back periodically over the next two weeks for three more. The doctor will explain it all to you. He also will probably put your daughter on antibiotics, orally.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Whatever she needs.”

  Tessa was sitting quietly through all this, her cheeks stained with tears.

  “Honey?” I asked. “Are you in pain?”

  “No, Mommy. Not much. I just don’t understand why that mean squirrel bit me. And, what happened to Rocky?”

  I put my arm around her shoulders, remembering the empty cage.

  “I don’t know why the squirrel bit you, honey. Maybe he was sick. And, Rocky – well, I think he ran off. We were going to have to let him go soon anyway.”

  Tessa was about to question me further, but, at that moment, the doctor strode into the room.

  “What happened here?” he asked.

  I quickly explained as he examined Tessa’s wrist.

  “That’s a good bite,” he said. “You were very brave, Tessa. And you’ll have to continue to be brave because I’m going to have to give you a couple of shots to make sure that bite doesn’t make you sick. Would that be okay?”

  Tessa nodded.

  “All right. We’ll get the medicine and get this over with so you can go home and have ice cream for being so brave. Right, Mom?”

  I grinned at the doctor. “Right. Ice cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles!”

  When we got home, Tessa was exhausted. I tucked her into my bed and sat with her until she went to sleep.

  Once she was out, I walked to the living room and poured myself a glass of wine. What the nurse had said about where we lived kept rolling about in my mind.

  Strange behavior for squirrels.

  As I mulled this over, I recalled the story that neighbor – Jaworski – ha
d told me about his wife.

  A squirrel stalking her or something like that. As big as – what was it he called it? A tomcat. Yes, a tomcat.

  I took my wine and went back to my office and sat down in front of the computer. Quickly I Googled Abnormal behavior in squirrels, Western Michigan.

  While I didn’t find much that was specific to squirrels and Michigan, I did find a bunch of articles detailing the effects of pollution on wild animals. I learned that chemicals called “endocrine disruptors,” heavy metals such as lead and PCBs, and additives like bisphenol A can alter the behavior of animals in the wild.

  But was this what was happening here in Laketon? If so, where and what was the source of the pollution?

  I wanted to delve deeper, but I heard cries coming from the bedroom and I hurried to my daughter who was thrashing about in the throes of a nightmare. My maternal instinct overshadowed my intellectual curiosity and I joined her under the covers. A couple of minutes later, Petey jumped up on the bed and the three of us snuggled and, finally, went to sleep.

  6

  August

  OVER THE NEXT couple of weeks we got through the rabies’ shots and things at our house returned to some semblance of normalcy. When home, Tessa stayed, for the most part, inside, only venturing into the backyard when I was with her. This worried me, but I assumed, over time, her fears would fade.

  There was no further abnormal behavior from the squirrels that inhabited our yard, so my fears about pollution and environmental effects got pushed to the back burner.

  Before I knew it, it was the first of August – time for Tessa to go visit her father on the other side of the state. I saw her off at the Gerald R. Ford International Airport in Grand Rapids with tears in my eyes, knowing I had a long, lonely month ahead of me.