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Squirrel figures

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Anneli Byrd

Photo provided

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Last year, while we were on vacation, we got this exciting text from our daughter, 

“THERE’S A SQUIRREL IN MY BED!!!” 

My Disney brainwashed mind, which will override safety concerns and common sense any day, was happy for her. 

“That’s great!” I cheered. “They’re so cute!”

Catherine, knowing exactly what I was thinking, rolled her eyes — which I could easily feel from a thousand miles away, responded: “It’s not a Snow White squirrel! It could have a disease and it’s NOT going to help with the housework!” 

Oh, well fine. If she was going to be all reasonable about it and pop my happy bubble, I would help — but with a side of snark.

“Gee, it’s a shame there isn’t a natural predator or two nearby.”

“These TWO?? (meaning her two floof-ball cats). They’re USELESS! Plus, what if the squirrel bites them?” 

“Unless the squirrel has teeth like a tiger, I doubt it can get through their fur. I’m afraid you’re going to have to call Rufus.”

“Nooooooooooo!”

Poor kid. If anything went wrong at her house, she was supposed to call Rufus, the handyman. I don’t know if Rufus was instructed by the owner to save money, but his favorite method of repair was to wait and see if things would fix themselves. When they didn’t, a piece of duct tape usually “fixed” it long enough for him to make a getaway.

This time, when he came, he made a great show of getting into the crawl space. He claimed to have blocked all the squirrel entrances. To be fair, there was a temporary drop in squirrel appearances, maybe the squirrels didn’t like his scent. Catherine suspects that Rufus just ate the nuts.

Eventually, she did what she should have done all along, which is to live with the new reality and, whenever a squirrel was seen, to lock the cats in another room and run around shrieking with a broom. 

Now she’s moved to a new and hopefully wildlife-free house. I’m relieved for her because the last time I visited, she showed me a picture of the latest squirrel sitting in a tree eyeing the living room through the window. The squirrel was as round as a beach ball. Catherine said, “We’re pretty sure she’s pregnant so we’ve named her Jezebel.”

Naturally, I wanted to help make her move as smooth as I possibly could. I helped her pack some boxes. Then I went home and got on Amazon.

My first idea was to buy a cute little squirrel or two as a joke. Oh no. You can buy ANYTHING on Amazon. Instead, I bought a pack of 60 tiny squirrels. Dave and I hid them in boxes, clothes pockets and all throughout the new house. Juvenile, I know, but we couldn’t help ourselves.

I consider them to be a great success. She didn’t even suspect us at first. Instead, she wondered if the Realtor had played a prank. But she quickly figured out that only her parents could be so relentlessly lame. For myself, I’ll be greatly disappointed if she isn’t still finding squirrels on the day she moves out. 

Meanwhile, she tells me the tiny squirrels have formed their own cult. The one that was accidentally doused with coconut extract has become the leader. They are actively recruiting members.

It’s possible the stress of the move has broken her mind. Or maybe it’s just the simple truth. Either way, it’s bound to get out of hand.

Anneli Byrd is an academic adviser in Weber State University’s General Studies and Exploratory advising.