A Critter in the House

This story happened in the Maine house, probably about 1996. As far as I can remember, I was the only person at home, which was a very rare occasion. I could be just making it all up because I have no corroborating witnesses, but I swear it really happened.

I was upstairs in the bedroom at the time and I heard a lot of commotion going on in another room. It sounded like the patter of little feet that were running very fast. There were two sets of footsteps, like something was chasing something else. It seemed to start in an upstairs bedroom and then I could tell the chase proceeded down the stairs at breakneck speed, much faster than any human could go. Alarmed, I started walking down the stairs to try to figure out what kind of skirmish was ensuing in my house and causing such a ruckus. As I neared the bottom of the stairs, I caught a glimpse of our cat. She was racing as fast as she could go to catch up to a critter of some kind. They were tearing all around the house, under the furniture, out to the kitchen and back to the living room. I could only stand at the bottom of the stairs and watch dumb-founded as the race continued. Finally, as the running animals neared where I was standing, the cat caught up with the critter and it looked like a ball of fur with a few tails sticking out. It was just like I used to see in cartoons when a dog and a cat were fighting. I had no idea what to do to save the poor little critter that our cat was determined to vanquish, so I just held my stupefied gaze.

Suddenly, the cat popped out of the ball of fur and landed on her feet stone-still. The other critter was now on its back, also stone-still, with its feet pointing skyward. It was almost like the cat called time-out so the two could catch their breath before the next round of the battle. Now I could see that the victim the cat was chasing was a flying squirrel. It was a beautiful little creature with snow-white under fur, a brown back and long brown tail. The cat was looking up at me as if to say, “Look what I flushed out of the shadows in our house, but don’t worry, I got this!” I looked down at the little beastie with sympathy. I thought the cat must have killed it because it wasn’t moving. I reached down and picked it up by the tail. I took a few steps over to the front entry door and opened it to set the creature down on the landing of the front steps. The squirrel was still acting quite dead, not moving a muscle. However, before I had a chance to let go of its tail, the squirrel called time-in. Much to my amazement, he was able to swing his body up and sink his teeth into the fleshy tip of my thumb, which was still pinching the end of his tail.

Now, my reaction time was many times slower than that of the squirrel, but when the message finally arrived at my brain about 15 milliseconds later, panic took over. I jerked my hand back, but the squirrel was still attached to it. Next, I flung my hand away, trying to dislodge the little critter who seemed determined to hang on for dear life. This time, however, it worked and the squirrel let go. He landed on the threshold of the open front door. I quickly slammed the door closed to prevent the squirrel from coming back in. Thinking the ordeal was over, I examined my thumb to assess the damage. I went back upstairs to clean the wound and finish dressing.

About five minutes later, I came back down the stairs. I had a band-aid on my thumb, but my indignation and mental state were still somewhat inflamed. At the bottom of the stairs, I found the cat near the closed front door. She was intently staring at the spot where the squirrel had landed on the threshold of the door. Then I heard a faint skritch, skritch on the other side of the door. I waited a moment and listened intently. There it was again, an unmistakable scratching noise coming from the other side of the door. I thought to myself, “Seriously! Is that crazy squirrel still trying to invade my house to even the score with the mean old cat?” I went through the kitchen to go out the side door. I wanted to go around to the front door from the outside to see what the squirrel was up to.

Sure enough, there he was clawing and gnawing at the front door. Upon closer inspection, I realized he wasn’t trying to get back in my house. His foot was securely caught between the door and the threshold weather-stripping. He was merely trying to free himself and get the heck out of Dodge. He was terrified as I approached and tried with renewed desperation to dislodge his foot.

My first thought was to find a big stick and put the miserable little beast out of its misery. After all, he had caused me quite a fright and I could get rabies or Ebola or some other terrible disease from the bite he gave me. But now he was in my power. It was the perfect opportunity to get my revenge.

Fortunately, that first urge didn’t last long. As I watched his desperation, my heart softened and I realized that he was just a poor little critter that wanted to get back to his home in the forest. Maybe it was a mother squirrel that had little babies to take care of or perhaps it was a young squirrel that didn’t know that humans and cats were bad news. I opened the door just enough for it to remove its foot and skitter away.

As I watched it run with a bit of a limp into the forest, my anger melted away. I then realized that compassion was a much better emotion than anger or desire for revenge. I felt my peace restored and a great relief that the poor little fellow was once again free to live his simple life in the forest. I hoped that the contrast between the two emotions would help me make the same choice the next time I felt that I had been wronged by someone else. Compassion for my fellow men and forgiveness for their human weaknesses will always be the better choice.