The Alien in My Guest Room: Part 20
The Squirrel Whisperer: A Story in Photos
The other day, about a mile away from home, Fernando was riding back from evening ESL classes when he heard a pitiful chirping from the creek side of the bike path. He stopped to find the source of the call: a baby squirrel, by itself, was about to fall into the water. He looked around, but it was dark and there was no sign of other squirrels, or even a good place for a nest. He tucked the baby in his shirt and continued on his way.
The next morning, he emerged from his room earlier than usual to ask me if Emily was awake yet. She had gone to a morning appointment, I told him. “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. “I have a little surprise for her.” (“Una sorpresita.”) I thought nothing of it, and went back to the all-important task of making coffee. A minute later, I heard him call my name — I turned around to see him holding the terrified little creature.
To understand my feelings at that moment, I need to take you with me on a brief flashback. Nineteen years ago, and half a world away, someone left a two-week-old infant on the pavement in a poverty-stricken Chinese village, in the shadowy hours before dawn. It was the height of the One Child Policy, and not such an unusual event for the time and place. The newborn’s cries drew attention; she was taken to an orphanage. Ten months later, she became the best thing that ever happened to me: my baby Emily.
Foundlings will always tug at our heartstrings. Because of our family history, I think a motherless baby plays an entire symphony on mine.
After a stunned moment, I lightly petted the squirrel’s fuzzy little side. I knew that I shouldn’t stress her more, but she was so damned cute! (I don’t actually know whether it is a male or female pup, but I think of it as “her.”) He told me he had nested her in rolled-up sweatpants for the night.
What to do with her? We thought that maybe she was old enough to fend for herself, so Fernando took her outside and gently placed her on a branch in our fruiting fig tree, where local squirrels like to feast. At first it seemed that she was going to fall. He supported her on one side until she got a grip. Then she froze, and we stepped back, watching from a bit of a distance.
I was slightly panicked. I didn’t want the poor thing to die on my watch, and she’d make a nice little snack for the cats that gather in my garden, thanks to the catnip I planted to attract them. As the minutes ticked by, I ran inside and posted on NextDoor asking if anyone could suggest a course of action. To my surprise, a half dozen neighbors immediately responded: they raise abandoned baby squirrels, or know someone who does.
I went to get the pet carrier so we could keep Baby Rocky safe until she found her forever home. Yes, I named her — for Rocky and Bullwinkle. (It’s a little confusing because our backyard raccoon is also Rocky, and her annual litter is called The Rockettes.) I went out back to find my husband Hermes and Fernando still marveling at Rocky’s astonishing cuteness. Perhaps 45 minutes had passed. Fernando The Squirrel Whisperer went to pick her up and put her in the carrier, but the sun had warmed her and she was feeling a bit less cooperative. She started screaming little squirrel distress calls and backing away from him. He gave her some space.
Her cries were not in vain. A shadow came galloping across the top of the fabric sail that shades our porch. A nursing mama squirrel scurried down to the foot of the fig tree. Her six pack of engorged squirrel nipples were in their full glory. We all stood back, transfixed.
She ran up and down the tree, chattering at Little Miss Rocky. “Come here, this way,” she seemed to be saying. Rocky was clearly interested, but didn’t move. Mama Squirrel approached the orphan, sniffed her, tried to get her to follow. No luck. Finally — you could almost see a thought bubble over Mama’s head saying, “Dammit, I’m going to have to do this the hard way!” — she stretched out her neck and grabbed Baby Rocky by the scruff. There was no more fooling around. She was a squirrel on a mission.
With Rocky’s tail curled around her neck like a fur stole, she went charging down the fig tree and straight to the middle of the driveway. She didn’t stop until she was halfway up the four-story-high palm in the front yard. She rested for a moment and then continued on to her nest, where her other babies presumably waited for their milky breakfast.
A successful adoption story — who could have asked for more? I was sobbing.
We have seen Mama Squirrel a few times since then, scratching around for food in the garden, socializing with my lazy old tabby (really — they were on the picnic table together), laying on the Spanish tile with all four little legs fully extended, the very epitome of an utterly exhausted mother. Fernando told me he saw her with the baby, though I don’t know how he knows whether it was Rocky or one of her siblings. Nevertheless, I choose to believe it was “our” baby.
Every morning now, I put a handful of nuts at the base of her tree, as a way of saying thanks, and helping out a single mom of multiples…plus one.