The Intruder:
So, I’m currently sitting in my basement on a chilly day watching “The Holiday” with my mum while snuggled up by our woodstove, and there’s an intruder in my house.
Yes. An intruder. In my house. Right now.
Funny story is, he’s been here before, about three months ago, and now he’s BACK. At least, he was in my house last time I checked, so he’s probably still around. He’s gone through my closet, jumped on my mom’s face, hung from our curtains, and eaten our coffee grinds. Honestly, this guy’s a real beast.
Before anybody calls the cops or my phone starts blowing up with people saying “What’s wrong with you? Get out of there!” allow me to clarify. The intruder is not a big burly bad man with a ski mask and a crowbar. He’s a squirrel; a flying squirrel to be exact and he’s terrorizing my mum…and the rest of us. Ya’ll know that if mummy ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Well, mummy ain’t happy. My brother and I are absolutely in love with the little guy, and my coworker named him Peter, so that is how I’ll be referring to him from here on out. About the size of a softball, Peter is red-brown, fuzzy, and has big BIG black eyes. He’s already run across my foot while trying to escape from my mess of a closet, and he’s the softest, cutest little thing.
Peter the Flying Squirrel can actually fly…or glide. In seconds he can go from one corner of our house to the other (though our house is small, so its not saying much). His debut appearance was three months ago when he was just a baby. I was, again, sitting in the basement when my father came and flopped in his chair.
“Hey Bones,” he said to me. “How do you feel about pets?”
“I like pets. Why?”
“Cause there’s a flying squirrel in your closet.”
“Uhhh….ok….and do you plan on, I dunno, doing something about that?”
“Nope.”
So, of course I had to go see the squirrel now living in my closet. I opened the door, and there he was clinging to my dresses and staring back at me with eyes as big as grapes. Despite his refusal to remove the squirrel, my father did follow me up to my room, because he’s a boy and what boy doesn’t like random woodland animals invading their home?! Several attempts were made to catch Peter, the baby squirrel, but we are obviously very bad squirrel-catchers. Peter jumped at my head, ran over my feet, and then darted out to the living room to terrorize my mum. She was standing on our couch screaming bloody murder while Peter collided with our furniture and ran in circles. Did I mention he has the coordination of a drunk Nascar driver on the Autobahn?
With my father in hot pursuit, and me cackling in the corner because the whole thing was so stinkin’ funny, Peter launched himself into the kitchen trash bin. He peeked his head over the top and just stared at us with those huge eyes as if to say “I’m so cute! Please don’t throw me out in the cold!!”
Awwww….not gonna cut it, buddy. Dad picked up the bin, and out went Peter with the trash. My mum’s tried desperately to forget about him, and we went on with our lives…until one week ago.
He obviously just wants a hug.
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