Shocking the Kid

I grossed out my son this morning. You’d think after all these years, he’d have seen it all.

I guess he’d never seen me give a squirrel CPR.

Earlier in the morning a woman had called and said she had two young squirrels that seemed fine yesterday, but weren’t doing well today. They had come up to her family earlier in the weekend and started crawling up legs at the campfire.

Squirrels aren’t supposed to do that.

Luckily, they realized that these were quite young and very hungry. They gave them bread and bits of nuts and seeds and let them drink a little water out of a dish. Last night, they made a little nest for them in the wood box outside (What? Not everyone brings random squirrels into their house like me?) It got really cold last night. The babies were cold and lethargic this morning and wouldn’t eat.

What she didn’t know, is that young squirrels who loose their mother stay in the nest for a few days waiting for her to come back and feed them. When she doesn’t, they crawl out and down the tree and walk up to anything bigger than them looking for food. Unfortunately, what is bigger than them is usually looking for food too….end of squirrel.

By the time someone finds them or they find someone who will pay attention to them, they have usually been without food three to five days. The first thing people think is that all squirrels eat nuts and seeds and bread. They don’t. Baby squirrels will nurse up to three months and sometimes longer. The only thing their system is able to digest is milk. They may not be able to process the hard foods, especially if they are dehydrated.

These were dehydrated, even though they had tried to give them water, even mixing sugar and a bit of salt with it, they didn’t realize how much and how often they would need it. The poor little things did not have the resources to keep warm through the cold night.

By the time they got here, only one was moving and that was barely. The other was cold and still. I didn’t want to tell her the squirrel was dead, so I rushed them into the house. The breathing squirrel went right into intensive care (a box on my desk with a heating pad underneath)
The other squirrel was still limp instead of stiff and since the woman said he was still breathing when she left the house…I figured I’d give it a shot.

I started CPR. You have to pump fast to keep up with a squirrel’s metabolism and after about 30 compressions, I went to give him a breath. That’s were Levi comes in. He was at the desk working on my computer.
I gave a few tiny puffs and more compressions. As I went to give him another puff of air, I glanced over at my son.

He was sitting there, mouth agape with a look of horror on his face.(Maybe it was disbelief, it’s hard to tell any more.)
He said, “MOM! You don’t know where that squirrel’s mouth has been!”
I told him, “Well I KNOW where yours has been and I still kiss you!” and went back to work.

It wasn’t long before the squirrel took a few breaths and moved a tiny bit. I tucked him in my shirt to warm him and feel if he stopped breathing again. Pretty soon, I could tuck him in with his sister in ICU.
It was absolutely amazing how quickly Levi finished up on my computer and disappeared.

Throughout the afternoon, I gave them Pedialyte and kept them warm. By tonight they were up and wanting milk. Now their tummies are full and they are snuggled next to the miracle squirrel from last week. I think they will be just fine, even if one does has a trace of lipstick over his nose.

And Levi? Well, I don’t think I’ll be kissing my son anytime soon…..and he thought all he had to worry about was Corona…..

Pandemics Don’t Wait

Pandemic or not, the babies won’t wait.

I’ve been worried the past two weeks…what if I have a house full of babies and I get sick? Who will feed them? I even considered holding off on taking any until things have calmed down.

I didn’t really get a choice.

The first squirrel came in this afternoon. The woman who found her, came as far as the porch and held out a box at arm’s length. I reached in and pulled out a baby fox squirrel and took her quickly in the house. My records may be a bit shabby this year. I barely remembered the woman’s name and that she was from Traverse City.

She did tell me while on the phone that her cat brought this baby home. I explained that there might not be much hope with the cat having it in it’s mouth, but she seemed desperate for me to try. I kind of understand that desperation.

Things seem pretty bleak and hopeless right now. The virus is in Traverse City and the cases are growing. We all feel helpless. Handwashing and social distancing just don’t seem to be enough to combat this. People are going to die. Maybe people we know. Maybe people we love. Maybe us.
I really can’t do anything about that. I can only try to keep myself and those I keep close, as healthy as I can.

I can do something about the squirrel.

She seems healthy. Maybe we got lucky and the cat never broke the skin. I can’t find any wounds and she is already taking to the formula. Tonight I came in the studio and she was snuffling around in her box and making those baby squirrel sounds that I hear, even in my sleep.

Thankfully she’s old enough to go through the night without feeding, but I know I’ll wake up and feed her anyway. It’s amazing how that works. I don’t use alarm clocks to wake me…I just wake up when a baby needs me.
We’ll know by tomorrow if the cat infected her. The bacteria they carry in their mouths kills within 24 hours. Hopefully she’ll be fine. Hopefully we’ll all be fine. Hopefully, I won’t get sick.

That’s a lot of “Hopes”, but right now we need all the “Hopes” we can muster.

Stay well. Stay hopeful. Stay kind.

Worst Mom Ever

I am the worst mom ever….at least as far as Ki Ki is concerned.
Yesterday I was out in the garden shed putting away the last of the snowmen and some fake greens. She ran in with me and wouldn’t come out. So I went off to do something else and left the door open.

Later I went into the other shed for a clean sap bucket. I had no idea that she followed me in and crawled to the back. I left and latched the door.
Around dinner time, the Keeks didn’t show. Nor did she later in the evening when she normally comes in for a nap. I was hoping that she had made a kill somewhere (not one of my chickens this time) and wasn’t hungry

. When I went to bed I wondered about her and looked out at the sheds to see if the electric candles in the window were still there and on. I figured that if she was trying to get out, she would have knocked it down. Both candles were on.

This morning. Still no Ki Ki. Sophie seemed a little lost and I was getting worried, yet hoping that she was testing her independence. I had a morning appointment and left. When I came home? No Keeks. The stupid turtle had opened the back door and I had to trudge all the way to the goose pen to retrieve him. Sophie of course, followed. I called for Ki Ki several times.

On the way back to the house I propped all 40 pounds of angry turtle on my hip and opened the garden shed again. No Keeks and nothing was disturbed. I shut the door and went back to the warm the turtle. (He peed down my leg and into my boot in protest.)

Then I realized. Sophie didn’t come in. She was standing and staring at the other shed. The candle was NOT in the window. I ran out and opened the door. 15 pounds of cat bounced off my chest and tackled Sophie in a joyous reunion.

Try as I might, she would not let me pet her. She kind of snort-growled at me and sauntered off to the house to sit in front of the “Magic Box of Sustenance” (AKA the fridge). I fed her gobs of fresh burger, which she might have choked on for all the purring.

My punishment consisted of her directly knocking over all the begonia plants in the window and sitting with her back to me. It took several hours and another handful of burger to buy forgiveness, but she is now laying on the floor with one paw holding my foot.

I really wish she didn’t have her claws out. I’m afraid to move.

The wood turtle Bob.

I am worried about Bob. Bob is a wood turtle that came to me two years ago with a badly fractured shell. A DNR officer had seen a young woman driving while talking on her phone. She never even attempted to miss him, even though there was room. He pulled her over, but was unable to ticket her for distracted driving. In his frustration, he made her find the turtle at the edge of the road and see the damage she had done.
I’ll never know if it impressed her or not, but it did the officer. Even though one side of the shell was broken on both top and bottom and there was considerable blood, the turtle stretched out his head and looked the officer dead in the eye. He decided then and there that he wanted to try and save him.

When he arrived here, I had my doubts. Once the inner membrane of the shell is breached, bacteria enters and the turtle usually does not make it. As I examined him, the turtle gave me the same look. Not afraid, not suffering, just interested in me. On closer inspection I noticed that he had no toes on his front feet. No claws, no toes. There were only well healed stumps.

I’ve only seen that once before in a tortoise that someone kept in a drained cement swimming pool. The turtle spent an unknowable length of time trying to climb it’s way out and literally wore off his toes.

Now a captive tortoise with no toes is one thing, but in a wild turtle, no front toes would not allow him to dig down in the forest floor or mud and hibernate. So between the lack of toes and his unusually calm demeanor (Something I have NEVER seen in a wood turtle) I assume that he had been captive and either escaped or been dumped in the wild.

Even more convincing, was that he was found in an area with neither wood nor water. Being semi aquatic, wood turtles live near streams or shallow rivers, never venturing more than a quarter of a mile from this water source. Turtles, especially land turtles, establish an internal map of their territory. Once removed to a new one, they may spend years wandering aimlessly seeking the familiar. I never encourage anyone to relocate land turtles in the wild for this very reason.

All of this added together, brought about a heavy sigh. If the turtle did survive, he would be with me forever. By all
appearances, I put is age somewhere between 20 and 35 years. In the wood turtle world, that’s an old man. The average lifespan is about 40 (up to 58 in captivity). I figured this old man had already suffered enough bad breaks and could spend his remaining years in whatever relative comfort I could provide.

So after letting him chill in the fridge over night, (it puts them in a torpid state and makes it easier to work on), I set about patching his shell. First I cleaned the wound with sterile saline, (pressurized contact lense solution does a great job). then I took bits of medical tape and did my bet to put the puzzle of pieces back in place. I used sticky plastic food wrap to cover the missing spots. Then I started coating the whole area with layers of auto undercoating and tissue paper.

Between layers, the turtle goes back in the fridge to dry. The undercoating has a strong smell, kind of like a cross between hot rubber bands and nail polish remover. It’s not real pleasant, especially in the refrigerator. It’s bad enough to open the door and see a turtle looking back at you, but then you add the smell and we usually eat out on turtle days.

Gradually, I built up enough layers for the shell to be stable, now what do I do with him? Well, you make a playpen on the ground in the herb garden. Believe it or not he thrived. He gorged on blackberries and blossoms, bugs and worms, even the occasional bit of fish or chicken was gone shortly after it was put in his reach.

Winter came and since he couldn’t dig down to hibernate, I brought him inside and dedicated space in my studio, for a four foot reptile palace of dirt and moss, with potted plants (which he ate and dug from their pots), a basking light and a shallow pool. All winter he consumed night crawlers and five dollar a can turtle food that smelled of apples and corn.

Once I made the mistake of putting a sparrow in his tank while I got out a cage. I came back to find the sparrow shrieking and Bob hanging on to it’s wing. It was his prize and he wasn’t going to give it up easily. I had to trade it for a bite of steak. I don’t think he ever really forgave me. Neither did the bird.

Spring came and we built a fence around the herb garden with a deeper pool and lots of mulch. There were spots to sun and places to hide and everyday when I called him to breakfast he would poke his head out from somewhere to see what I was offering. Summer passed and it was time to come in again.
The beginning of winter was good, every day he waited for his worms and treats, but lately, he seems off. I cleaned his water dish yesterday and when I picked it up, there were at least a dozen worms living under it. He doesn’t get as excited when I drop in fat blackberries or melon. Today, he simply watched his worms crawl under the water dish and sat under his light.
He seems lighter in weight and well…older His neck wrinkles and when he extends it, he looks like Mitch Mc Connell. (And Mitch Mc Connell is OLD-old)

Maybe that’s it. Maybe he is just winding down from old age. Maybe, like me, he longs for spring and sunshine and grass…instead of snow and cold. Maybe he’ll see another spring and perk up and have a happy summer…..maybe he won’t.
There is one thing I’m glad for. I’m glad that I gave Bob the chance to have a few happy years. I’m glad for the company in the long winters. He’s been easy to have around. You can’t say that about just any old turtle. Bob is a good boy.


I banned all snow related things from the house today. The snow globe with the Sophie dog gazing at a cardinal, the snow men from the bathroom shelf, the deep green glittered evergreen trees…all went into the box marked “After Christmas”. I keep these things to put out in the bleak and barren days fowling the holidays when the house seem colorless and drab.

I couldn’t take it any more. The sun is shining. I want it to be warm. I’ve cleaned the green house and planted the earliest seeds in their respective flats. Now, I wait for them to sprout. But….there is still snow. True Spring is months away.

What do you do in the meantime? The house is still drab and smells of dog. Ostera with it’s bunnies and eggs and flowers is two months away. The bright green moss covered topiaries look garish and out of place when there is still snow and gray and mud on the days that it thaws.

I need an in-between brightness. Something that will transition me from the desire to hibernate and the need to get in the garden. I need something between snowmen and daffodils. I need fresh air moving through the house…but the windows stay closed against the cold and I smell dog….and turtle.

When I was sculpting, I would do a show in South Carolina during the first week in March. Afterwards, I’d sneak down to Folly Beach, just outside of Charleston. That’s my favorite place in the world. A five mile strip of beach, uncluttered with tourists, with only seagulls and pelicans for company on my walks. It’s never really warm in March, but there isn’t any snow and it smells like ocean and wind. Not like dog.

When I would come home at the end of the week, the rest of the winter seemed bearable. I’d had my walks on the beach and seen the sun, I knew it would only be weeks before the forsythia bloomed and the grass started to green. Then it would be baby season and the house would smell like squirrel pee and formula and pine shavings. I wouldn’t notice that the house was messy or drab and the wind would blow away the smell of dog.

I don’t go there any more. I miss it. I don’t really mind being home. I’m just tired of snow and turtle poop and dog. It’s supposed to snow this week and it will cover what bare ground we have, but it will also cover the mud and the mounds of dog poop in the back yard that look like someone had a battle with a catapult and poo.

Maybe this weekend I’ll set the taps in the maple trees and then, at least on the back deck, it will smell of sweet syrup. If it warms up enough some bees may show up, hoping for a few drops of sweetness. I’ll give it to them and watch them lick the spoon.

Maybe I’ll paint the kitchen, lord knows, it can use it. I could always finish that curtain that still isn’t hemmed. If I’m ambitious, I’ll clean the fridge and pantry and give this turtle a good scrub. Maybe…. maybe, I’ll wash the dog.

Or the dog and I can curl up on the couch and watch an old movie. She doesn’t smell that bad…..

Almost Spring.

I went out to get the mail this afternoon and noticed a change in the wind. For the past few days it has been a brutally cold wind from the North. Even just a few hours ago, it felt harsh and grains of snow slithered into drifts. Not now. This new wind smells of spring and sap and sunshine.
For the past few nights, I have not heard the lonely, pleading calls of the male owl in the walnut tree. They have been replaced with the flirty calls back and forth between he and a female out in back. Soon they will steal one of the Pileated Woodpecker holes in a snag in the woods and start to nest even before the snow melts. It takes a long time to raise an owlet to an owl and need to get an early start.
Even the African tortoise that sleeps under my desk in the winter senses spring. He gets restless and I have to take care in locking the sliding door, lest I find him out in the snow. The squirrels know it too. They play chase and tag in the back yard, to see who gets to mate with whom. The mothers will soon be kicking the grown kids from last fall out into the world on their own. No couch in the basement for these young adults to fall back on, new babies will be born in late March and April. She’ll have no time or patience for their shenanigans.
I smelled a skunk one night last week and have seen two that didn’t look both ways while crossing the road. (It didn’t end well for the skunks) The boys are on the move right now looking for women instead of cars. Here, they creep silently between the houses and when they encounter a rival, they feel it necessary to mark their territory with a quick spritz of “Essence du’ Spring” If a female chooses to den under my shed or woodpile, I’ll give them time to raise their kits till they are old enough to be out and about. If I’m cautious around them, and don’t get nosey like the dog, I’m usually ok. (Did you know that skunk spray glows in the dark? Seriously. I can personally attest to that. I also have an excellent deodorizer recipe)
Raccoons, possums, and muskrats are among those who really don’t hibernate, but spend the harshest weather sleeping, venturing out on nicer days and evenings. They will hit the snooze button more often than not for a few more weeks, then they too will be on the move, looking for love in all the right places. (Hopefully on their own side of the road) Please watch out for them while driving.
Right now, the hares and ermine have their white winter coat for camouflage. It helps them to hunt unseen and keeps those that hunt them from seeing them. An early spring leaves them pitifully exposed and often hungry.
The sturdy old men of winter are the bobcats, porcupines and cottontails. They never seem bothered by the cold and spend the winter doing exactly what they do in the summer. The porcupines are especially important to the wellbeing of deer and rabbits as they snip off tender twigs high in the trees and drop them to the ground for the others. Even with their help, the low hanging branches of the old apple tree will be stripped of bark as high as the rabbits can reach.
We’ll know when the neighborhood bobcats mate. It begins with the female allowing a male into her territory. There will be a thankfully brief courtship of shouting to each other, an even noisier coupling and then she’ll chase him back to his solitary life. Raccoons are almost as noisy and a lot more frequent around here. Each will find a private, out of the way spot to give birth between April and May.
I can hardly wait for the robins to come back. I so miss their songs in the morning. Usually the first to arrive in the Northern Realm, there will inevitably be a late snow and I’ll run outside with chopped apples and raisins mixed with hamburger and mealworms. Once spread in the driveway, they will come out of hiding and fill up to keep warm. The snow won’t last though, and the other birds will follow with hummers and orioles being last.
The yard will be full of song and then it will be time for the first fawns. There is nothing as achingly beautiful as the first fawns. It takes a rehabber’s breath away and breaks her heart at the same time. By that time though, the house will be filling up with baskets, cages and crates, each with hungry mouths to be filled and sleep will be hard to catch.
Maybe wildlife rehabilitators should be like the chipmunks…we’ll snuggle in a warm hole, snacks within reach, sleep a lot and wait for spring.

SNow Turtle

Good Lord. Talk about coming home to a disaster. I thought someone had robbed us and ransacked the house.

Every pillow and blanket in the living room was on the floor, the couch cushions were askew. All the books from the lower shelf were dumped on the floor and a plant was knocked over. Over in the corner, the stained glass terrarium was broken on the carpet.(Unfortunately, it was filled with glitter snow at the time…try and get that out of a carpet.) Even the kitchen table has been pretty much swept clear.

My hand to my throat , I gasped “Who could have done this? I have no enemies?” (well I do, but try to stick with me)
Just them a squirrel (not one of the bathroom squirrels, I swear) bounded past me and ricocheted off the fridge with a bobcat and Labrador retriever in hot pursuit.

Ah. I get it now. I netted the squirrel and dumped him out the back door. The cat and dog followed.

I started cleaning up, when it dawned on me (give me a break, I’m slower in my old age) The back door had been open when I went to throw the squirrel out. That probably explains why the squirrel was INSIDE in the first place. I kept cleaning up.

The plant was pretty much trashed and since it is one that Roomba, the tortoise likes to nibble, I went to dump it in her dish.

No Roomba. NO ROOMBA? I franticly looked in all his favorite hiding places. Still No Roomba. Then I remembered the open door. It was sunny, Roomba tries to get out in the back yard when it’s sunny. Roomba is from Africa. There just aren’t enough brain cells in that little turtle head to realize that we are not in Africa and it’s WINTER.

I found shoes and headed outside. It really isn’t all that hard to follow a turtle in the snow. He was about 100 feet out in the back yard. My heart sank. I had no idea how long he had been out in the snow. He could be FROZEN.

He wasn’t. In fact he was rather pissed off that I was picking him up and putting him inside. Luckily he hadn’t been out long and only his feet and bottom shell were cold. I brought him in and put him on his recharging pad (A heating mat used for seedlings) He showed his displeasure by immediately peeing on my socks.


All in all I was lucky. The squirrel is obviously fine and sitting in the tree shouting profanities at the dog. The cat has found other , more entertaining things to be occupied with (I don’t even want to know what) I only lost a plant and a terrarium. In a few years all the glitter will be out of the carpet and I got a chance to dust my books.

I will have words though with the person who didn’t shut the door. I think I’ll sprinkle some glitter on their rug. That will fix them.

Ki Ki and Mom

My mother, sister in law and niece and husband were all here last night. Ki Ki usually, walks into the house, sees strangers and walks right back out.
But… her best friend dog was there so she came in with her. Now, she pretty much ignored everyone else in the room, but focused on my mother. She even went to the stairway to get a better vantage point, near where Mom was sitting. It was like she just couldn’t quite figure her out and even at one point, came close enough for a quick sniff.
When Ki Ki was a tiny kitten, she reacted similarly with my sister. She even allowed my sister to give her a bottle, which she never allowed anyone , but me, to do. When my sister held her, she kept pushing back so she could see her face.
Now, what is it that she recognizes in us as related. We have somewhat similar looks (though mother is almost 90). Our voices are also somewhat similar. but there must be an additional element with smell. I did not realize that smell was a genetic thing, however I believe it must be, even though I am rarely in close contact with the other two.
Is this why she has always accepted Levi as part of her “family” ? She does not view him as an authoritarian figure or food provider. She never asks him for food (Nor does she Jimmy, my husband). No, the guys are more like siblings and playmates, as she plays much rougher with them than me.
I wish Jimmy still had family so we could see how she reacts with them. I really need to get my brother over here. We would definitely know if it were a smell over appearance.
It just shows us that there is so very much going on in a wild animal’s brain than we realize. They are sentient beings and deserve to be treated as so. I am absolutely convinced that the working of a wild animal’s mind is different than say, a domestic dog or cat and even more so different from a chicken or cow.
It’s always been apparent to me that prey animals have different thought patterns than predators , but this is the first apex predictor I have been able to be on such imitate terms with. She doesn’t have the expectation, nor acceptance of being a meal for another animal or human. Maybe this is why allows her to develop a more complicated and varied thought process, rather than simple instinct.
This has definitely been a fascinating experience to raise her from such an early age (one week old). No matter that she has been raised in a house or that her best friend is a dog, she has retained her wildness. Other than her obsession with a ball of yarn, there is very little resemblance to our house cats.
I’m now realizing that raising her with all the freedom she wants was probably the right choice (at least for her), rather than let her finish growing in a pen. My chicken may not thank me and the local squirrels aren’t too thrilled, but I think her development is right where it should be.
The rest remains to be seen.

You Are Dead to Me

The bobcat is sitting with her back to me. I am dead to her. (At least till she wants food)

I still had one squirrel and one pigeon in my studio. We have already gone over the dangers of the squirrel and indoor plumbing. I still have two Band-Aids to prove it. Squirrels and pigeons are messy buggers, throwing seed everywhere and in the case of male squirrels…holding tight to the bars to see how far outside their cage they can shoot pee.

Not unlike human males, I guess.

Anyway, The pigeon seemed to be all healed from her wing injury and the dead toe has fallen off (Long story). There is a hot little female squirrel in a cage on the enclosed porch, whistling at Jimmy and giving him the eye, every time he walks by. Maybe it’s time to introduce Short Fat and Black Squirrel to her. I could see if the pigeon could fly at the same time. Then hopefully, I can release said FEMALE pigeon to the head humper boys that live in the back yard.

So….I convince the SFBS (Short, Fat, Black, Squirrel) that I am not removing him to feed him to the bobcat or put him back in the terrifying bathroom. He lets me pick him up, give him a quick snuggle and put him on the cage in the porch where our sexy lady squirrel is still asleep. Then I go for the pigeon.

Now I need to be sure that the pigeon can fly…..we live with a bobcat after all. I take her out to the enclosed porch and open my hands. She can fly. She can fly really well. Too Well. I can’t catch the damn thing again.

I come in the house to get a net. The bobcat says “Ah Ha! I have my opportunity to get involved” and slips out the door un noticed. All hell breaks loose. The pigeon knocks over Mary and Joseph and kicks the baby Jesus onto the top of the squirrel cage. Sexy Lady wakes up and thinks there is an intruder in her cage. SFBB automatically goes into “Bathroom Battle” mode.

The cat is thrilled. This is better than TV or the pine tree in the living room with all the dangly things. (that’s a story for something stronger than coffee) The bird is franticly flying about bashing into the clear plastic walls that she cant see, the squirrels are still screaming at each other and trying to kill the Baby Jesus and I am running franticly with a net trying to catch the pigeon before that dam cat does..

It was ugly. I need more Band Aids…and a bourbon…lots of bourbon…’s only 10:45 in the morning.

All said and done. The pigeon is now flying free outside with two desperate male pigeons playing Rock .Paper. Scissors to see who gets her and who has to wait for the next human head that comes out the door. Baby Jesus has been rescued
albeit, missing a few toes and Joseph and Mary are still shell shocked. The squirrels are at opposite ends of the cage glaring at each other (I don’t think she likes fat men) And the cat…..Well, she was unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of the neck and thrown out into the snowbank.

She’s back inside now. Straightening her fur with her tongue and plotting my death.

Just another day in the Gaskin house.

Anyone got a band aid?

I really must do something about the squirrel problem in the bathroom. It’s starting to get out of hand,
This morning I was sitting at my desk, on facebook, minding my own business (I know, don’t go there…) when I heard the distinctive plop of a squirrel hitting the floor. Before I could even turn around, the bobcat came zipping through and I heard said squirrel screech.
“Shit.” I thought,”There goes that squirrel…..”
I tried to get around the table, but said squirrel was simply a blur with Ki Ki tight on his ass. I figured the squirrel was already a gonner and since I value my fingers, I know better than to try and take it away. I heard banging and crashing from the other room and then silence.
Pretty soon, Ki Ki came in and flopped on the rug by the door. I assumed that I would find half a squirrel somewhere later.
I went about my day, a little laundry, baking some cookies, cleaning. Pretty soon, I had to pee. Usually this is not eventful, but remember where I liv. I didn’t turn the light on,,,I’m pretty confident where my toilet is by now.
Halfway through, I felt a little paw on my shoulder. I screamed. Whatever the paw was attached to screamed, Sophie ran from the bathroom. (I never get to pee alone) The paw tightened its grip and was joined by three more and a pair of teeth in my neck.
It was the squirrel. The squirrel was frightened. The squirrel was pissed, The squirrel was out for blood. It would settle for mine. “Not today squirrel, not today”
I managed to reach around in the dark and get my hands on the squirrel. It screeched again. Enter the bobcat.
It’s actually a good thing that this was taking part in a dark bathroom with no one around, remember, I was PEEING. That means that my pants are now down around my ankles and the only thing that the bobcat has to get purchase on is my bare leg. I screamed again. Sophie stood in the hallway and barked. It was NOT a pretty sight.
Somehow, the details are a bit blurry, but I know someone was swearing loudly, I managed to hold the squirrel over my head while I shuffled towards the cage with a bobcat hanging by his claws off my butt. I dislodged the squirrels teeth from my thumb and stuffed him in his cage, The now disappointed cat leg go of my lower regions and sulked off.
After searching for band aids, dry underwear and pants (I must have jumped up rather rapidly off the toilet) and putting a new, non chew-able metal clip on the door of the squirrel cage, I started to calm down. I apologized to the cat and gave her an alternative meal and I can finally get back to facebook.
Then maybe I’ll look on Amazon for a motion detecting light for the bathroom.