I am the lonely old possum that hangs by my tail, in the ‘seen better days’ tree. The good news is, I am not really lonely. I am a Cool Dude. I have a caring Mama and a nest of siblings that I purposely escape each day. I make my way to my favourite perch, an evergreen. I scamper up, higher and higher, looping my tail around a branch, like a bungee cord, free-falling, so I can get an unobstructed view of the terrain below.
Why would I choose that tree, in that location? Well, you know, Momma lives there with all of her Cool Inside / Outside cats,her Hot Dog,Mr. Grey Squirrel, his family and friends,the rabbitsand colourful birds, oh and don’t forget the raccoons. I like watching them too…and the bats, that at dusk, fly in formation, like bewitching shadows, their wings extended, as they glide, noiselessly, swooping and swaying, to their own inner antenna.
Jakita considers me an unsub.Whatever! I just don’t pass the sight and smell test. She constantly sounds the alarm, like ‘Do something Momma’. Maybe she thinks that Momma should climb the tree and poke me. Forget that. Momma would then make me part of her entourage, give me a schedule, expect me to fit in, what ever that means.
Jakita (left) Kitty Club Med, left to right, Beau, Gen (calico) and Andy.
The cats, I shall subdivide for you. The Inside Kitty Club Med cats, ignore me. They sashay indoors, never acknowledging my existence. I can handle that. I have to say, the feral cats, the rabbits and raccoons, even the birds and the squirrels, think all outside trees belong to them exclusively and are hostile accordingly. Sharing is not their strong point.
Do you think it bothers me?This is the room with the viewand I am not going anywhere, at least, until after I fall out of the tree and meander back to my den, to snuggle with Mama and my siblings.
Caught in the act. Mr. Grey Squirrel heads to the top of our birch tree, swings on to our roof and then takes squatters rights to a new level of intensity.
Previously I had let you know how Mr. Grey Squirrel, cheeky and capricious, had persevered until he was successful at setting up residence in our attic loft. Whenever he heard Momma or her family go in to the shed room, he would pop out of the trap door, high on the rafters and eyeball us, chattering non stop, to make sure we knew, he had won.
One day Super Boy came over and went out to the Shed Room to get a soft drink. He came back to the kitchen, asking, “Uh, are you supposed to have a squirrel in your Shed Room?” Sister-Itty-Bitty, her friend, Wonder Boy, Daddy, Momma and I all went trooping out and there he sat on his haunches, front paws folded as if in prayer.
Daddy explained to our bemused family that it was okay, we would drive him out once the spring came. We heard, but never saw Mrs. (Black) Grey Squirrel. That is not till ‘that’ day – the day she had a mission. Apparently Baby Black Grey Squirrel decided to explore the home he lived in. How do we know? They were caught in the act. RIP Daddy had gone out to get drinks for his cooler. Mrs. (Black) Grey Squirrel gave him a “back off look” – walked right over his feet, with something in her mouth. When Daddy bent over and looked closer, he was amazed to see The Sequel – Baby Black Grey Squirrel, (obviously his mama was doing the rescue of a kid gone bad). Then she nonchalantly did a Spider-(wo)man crawl back up the rafters, though the little door to the attic.
Another generation of squirrels to stake claim to the house. It would not hurt so badly if they would be kind enough to contribute to the mortgage payments. But I am thinking that in today’s economy, it would be hard for a squirrel to get a job. It is even tough for Momma and you know how versatile she is:
BEFORE Momma was: Climbing a rickety imaginary corporate ladder trying to break that elusive glass ceiling (not so successful).
NOW Momma is: Climbing a wobbly aluminum ladder to paint the stucco ceilings (successful), even if she falls off and lands in the paint tray, bruising her tail bone, as a consequence. (I tell her, I tell her, DO NOT CLIMB LADDERS. I can not be responsible for her inability to listen).
Maybe some day the city will start paying the squirrels for cleaning all the chestnuts that fall to the sidewalk from my neighbors’ massive tree.
So these are the kind of trees Mr. Grey Squirrel and Family zip up and down, knocking treasures to the ground for winter safekeeping.
Should that happen, Mr. Grey Squirrel, maybe you can contribute to the household expenses, at least enough to repair the holes in the roof you create. Till then, let me warn you, Mr. Grey Squirrel and Family, your number is up – I know spring is here already and we have not made a move. But just wait till it gets warmer. As the Baseball Umpire says, ‘You’re out of here’. This we promise you.
Here I am, under the cherry tree, in the Rock Garden, looking for and hiding my chestnuts.
They (the Two Footed) knew it was bound to happen because, I, (Mr. Grey Squirrel) and my kind are doggedly persistent in all we set out to achieve. No way would some fly by night homeowners with our long-established squatters rights, keep us out. The difference was we were here for eternity. They were here until they tired of us,sold the property and moved on.
I cased the joint. I traveled every inch of the roof and awnings to find the most strategic point of entrance. I found a couple of places that when I put my eye to a thin crack, I could see the unfinished attic, a paradise for winter living. The first place I gnawed at day in and out for three days (but who is counting, what else does a squirrel have to do?). However, when it came time for evaluation versus effort, I had to admit I had not made any headway through the plank. Maybe those demon Two Footed creatures who constructed this home, had put in steel two by fours, just to discourage squirrels.
So I went to my second choice – second because it was on a slippery slope and it was hard to get a grip, so to speak. Many times as I gnawed, I lost my balance, fell to the ground, had to climb the tree and start all over again, but by golly, that is life and they were not keeping me out. Finally I had made an opening that I could flatten myself like a pancake (a blessing from the Higher Power who realized squirrels need a roof over their heads too, especially in those frigid months from December to April) and squeezed in.
Mrs. Black (Grey) Squirrel Fr: Morguefile By: AcrylicArtist
And once in the home I invited my Significant Other to take up residence with me– a shiny black bushy-tailed Mrs. (Black) Grey Squirrel. The owners of the home would have had to be deaf not to know that they had free loading borders in their attic. They could hear us scurry, no, run to and fro, to and fro. The Two Footed Family tried to fall sleep in vain as we set up housekeeping.
Then there was the bowling balls that we, the Grey Squirrel Family chased down the timbers. Chestnuts, that I swear sounded like they weighed ten pounds which we had harvested diligently, all summer long, for winter staples. On top of that was the usual moving in noises. You know – the dragging and positioning of furniture for our abode to be more comfortable. What furniture, you ask naively? Well, Momma had left a corrugated box high up on the rafters.
Spoiler Alert for the Home Channel Marble Counter Top Millenniums. You may have nightmares after seeing the ceiling of a Shed Room. Just look at that Knob & Tube wiring, we can swing across.
Once in the attic we could access our Shed Room in all of it’s’ splendor. Momma saw that box, disappear, one corner at a time, as our sharp teeth ripped and our able paws dragged it away, in pieces.
You have heard from a Hot Dog and various Cool Cats but now I will speak up. As the first order of business, I, Mr. Grey Squirrel,will chastise Momma. Seriously, I mean, look at how Momma so carefully covered every flower with a thick layer of compost leaves, protecting them from the deep frost, snow and ice of winter. All of the Garden Angels have been taken inside.
The Legendary wise Mr. Man Chu carrying, Puff, the Magic Dragon. See how their backs face the steps so when the side door opens, they are bathed in warmth come winter, air conditioning in the summer.
Even the Sun Dial and the awesome Mr. Man Chuhave been moved just outside the entrance, so that every time the front door opens, they are bathed in heat. The Fairies that appear on a Moonlit Summer Night are hibernating in the crevices of the stones that bleed a river of gold and silver, in the sunshine. (One day when the sun was high, I swear I saw them peek out at me).
Yet those of us, like squirrels, raccoons and thelonely old possumare abandoned by Momma during the winter months. I mean, my family, used to be able to live in Momma’s attic because of the big holes in the roof, that the previous owner allowed. As a matter of fact, generations of my family lived in the attic, chasing each other over the beams, to the chagrin of those who tried to sleep below. Without consulting me, Momma replaced the roof. We were locked out, off the island, gone baby gone. Isn’t there a law against that????
Even more challenging, the family had the utmost nerve to bring home a Yorkie puppy, Zanny, who must have mistaken us for a rats. Sometimes, when I was minding my own business, just trying to retrieve something from the vegetable garden and she would descend upon me, all spit and vinegar. With her yappy bark, she deafened me, driving me to the safety of a nearby tree trunk or a fence. Thank God Zanny could not manoeuvre climbing trees.
But six cats. What’s that all about? Isn’t that a bit extreme? I know there is a law against that! I just have to let city hall know! Yes, yes, they are all good-natured in comparison to that yappy dog. Those cats, they actually chase me up the tree, jump on the roof of the garage, get their fat bodies through the holes and knock the chestnuts I worked so hard to gather for our very next meal, on the floor, then out the door, for a game of road hockey.
How ever will my family and me survive another a cruel Canadian winter? It is not like there are Food Banks out there for squirrels or is there? It is a miracle of the Blessed Baby Jesus that we live to tell the tale, so to speak. Momma, can’t you do something?
Check it Out! Look how long and full my tail is, how alert my eyes and ears are. But hey, what gives, look at me, I have praying paws as well, but so far, I still have to scrounge to eat and find shelter. When the world order changes, we will not forget this indignity visited upon the Squirrel Nation.
Momma says, ‘I hear you, Mr. Grey Squirrel. But even so, with all of this adversity, you are looking good, your body is robust, your tail is majestic andas well attuned as our yappy Yorkie. When you shriek we just think, ‘Yada, Yada, Yada’ but when you sit on the roof and cry, Momma must admit, it reaches into her hard heart and makes her wonder if she should re-organize and prioritize her beliefs and responsibilities to all of God’s creatures and critters.‘
Momma knows, she knows, Mr. Grey Squirrel, she is the daughter of Her-Father-God-Rest-His Soul, who invited squirrels in his living room, enticing them with peanuts, strewn haphazardly on a path that led to him.She will not be following suit and opening the door wide for your flea-bitten family to infest her indoor pets. However, Wonder Boy, now he is a different story – like his grandfather before him, he is a squirrel charmer, his voice a haunting flutethat entices them to follow him, even barefoot through a bed of hot embers.
However, fair is fair. Momma has talked endlessly to the cats and the Yorkie, about showing deference, being sensitive to our plight but when Momma tried to present the tale from a squirrel’s perspective, she suspected, like her, they also think, ‘Yada, Yada, Yada’, till she pinches the tip of their ear, to get their undivided attention and respect.
However, after an Emergency Pet Conference, chaired by Momma, attended by Zanny and six kitties, I was given the following resolutions that will be in place immediately. ‘Mr. Grey Squirrel’, I was told, ‘We have the utmost admiration for you and your family because you have taught us the importance of looking, listening, and learning.
Zanny took Tigger to wherever she was headed…. and lrft him there….
And how responsible and giving you are. We noticed what you did – bringing chestnuts to our puppies’ stuffed toys, Babbie and Tigger who Zanny so recklessly abandoned in the back yard. You are such a good sport about it all, making sure that nourishment is provided to all, even to the least worthy, like a Karl Marx soldier, on his best day.’
Yes, it is true, we can be annoying, we may shriek, we may cry, but we will never move on. Come to think of it, aren’t we your most favourite outdoor ‘Wildlife Without Borders’ Squatters?We have plans to continue the stealth takeover of neighbor hoods and family homes by becoming completely domesticated, andlovable like your cat or dog but sssshhhh…it’s a secret.
Jakita tells the tale of Peter Cottontail to Calico Gen and the Adorable, Wide-Eyed Stuffed Monkey, Ruby.
One day, long time ago, Momma’s father (a.k.a Grandpapa to me) told her and her sisters that he had met up with Peter Cottontailthat very day in the forest. (OK, alright, settle down, they lived in the country, not downtown Toronto).
Now at that time, you did not argue with or disbelieve your elders. To their amazement, Grandpapa told them Peter communicated with him that he (Peter) had gone out to the local store, dressed in the disguise of Little Red Riding Hoodand bought a package of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum. Peter wanted my father to give a stick of gum to each of his good children.
With that said, Momma’s father solemnly reached in to his breast pocket of his blue plaid lumberjack shirt, extracted the package and passed it around from oldest to youngest, for them to each take a piece of green wrapped Spearmint Chewing Gum .
Momma never asked her sisters if they believed that yarn but I deemed my Grandpapa’s Peter Cottontail story to be totally plausible. I’ve had my eyes on the cotton-tails and know that they are nervy enough to eat the vegetables out of Momma’s garden, staring at me, ears all a twitch, taunting me, just brazen, the lot of them.
So soft, so sweet, so deceptive, yet who can not love a fluffy cottontail with pink stick-up-straight ears? From Morguefile.com IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert
I have no doubt that Peter would fool the storekeeper with a disguise. What probably is harder to compute is that Peter Cottontail would give the gum to Grandpapa to share with his kids. The deed of buying the gum and tricking the storekeeper was believable, they are a crafty lot who could easily bamboozle the locals,but sharing their spoils, I doubt it. Certainly not the Cotton-tails in this part of the woods, who don’t even flinch when I bark and growl to try to chase them from the garden. They are of the mistaken opinion that the lettuce, the carrots, even the tulips from the flower gardens, are for their consumption and I had better get with the picture.
Where Grampsey met up with Peter Cottontail (so I am told). Don’t you wish you were there?
Momma told me about that well-loved bunny, Thumperwho befriended Bambiin the movie, helping him adjust to the reality of the forest and all of its blessings and challenges. I am telling you, there are no Thumpers in Jakitaville, no, we got city slicker rabbits, with ra-bi-tude who look at all domestics and the Two Footed with disdain. Since Peter Cottontail was from the Country, maybe he was that altruistic, I am not going to totally rule it out…..because well, you know already, Ruby, Gen and I like to believe:
